


Thirty One Days

by SidneySydney



Series: Each to Our Own [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Heavy Angst, Insecurity, Loss, Loss of Identity, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Manipulation, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 85,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidneySydney/pseuds/SidneySydney
Summary: Lance experiences loss in all its ugly faces for the first time after beginning his journey as a Paladin, and discovers just how that changes a person over time. It...doesn't happen the way he expected. The people around him begin to change, and so does he.UPDATE: Used to be 'Loss.'





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a random nighttime exploration into some darker, more complex aspects of Lance's experience with Voltron. This could remain as a one shot, or I could continue, Let's see, shall we? 
> 
> Obviously I don't own any of these characters/the story, it all belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> I'm the only one editing my work so there are probably grammar mistakes and stuff that I missed, if you have any advice or picked up any mistakes, let me know. :-)

Loss was something foreign to Lance.

It was something to avoid. He knew it's nasty surprises. Though never experiencing them himself, he'd seen it in the people around him. In Hunk and in Pidge. He'd seen it in Keith from afar in the moment his fist made contact with Iverson's face. He didn't see Keith after that. Point was, Lance had seen loss actively play out in the people around him, and it wasn't pretty.

So _definitely_ something to avoid. Something to leap, slide and coast around, and if he was lucky, come out unscathed.

And he _was_  lucky. Enough that he had yet to experience any deaths in his family; his grandparents, though rickety, still going strong and, as he understood, the rest of them were in relatively good health. Though the exception could be made for his older sister, Jasmine, who suffered from an under active thyroid, but it was a very small exception as it was easily managed with medication.

His grades, if a bit questionable, had always been acceptable and he’d never failed an exam or assignment (he didn’t include simulations because everyone failed at least two of those in their lifetime, unless you had a mullet). He worked hard for his place in the Garrison and earned it through pure grit alone. He wasn’t naturally gifted with computers, like Pidge, or skilled with building things, as Hunk was, and he certainly was not the best pilot, though he liked to pretend otherwise. His life held steady.

Until Voltron.

_Voltron._

Jesus, the name itself sent shiver up his spine, an odd combination of glee, terror and overbearing responsibility weaving themselves into his very bloodstream like a virus. It made him vibrate all the way down to his toes. He was practically drunk off it.

It was just downright _crazy_.

_Insane._

_Unbelievable._

_Awesome._

_Terrifying_.

It was a million different kinds of adjectives, verbs and adverbs at once, let’s just put it that way.

It was also the first time Lance felt loss, in its total, crushing extremities. He felt it when he ended up on the other side of a wormhole and realised that he’d left Earth—his family, his _everything_ —a million miles behind. No one noticed the way his hands shook on the controls when they entered Arus. No one questioned the sweat dripping down his temple to be anything other than the heat of entering the atmosphere. No one heard the slight tremble in his voice when he vomited out joke after joke. He might have even wanted them to notice. It was his hands that lead them to where they were today, right through wormhole inside this whirling hellhole of an intergalactic war.

Losing Earth hit him like a bullet to the chest, and Coran’s later _generous_ example of just _how_ far away they were was like two hands pressing down on the wound to slow the bleeding—it hurt like a motherfucker but was ultimately useless. Of course, getting blown up _actually_ hurt as well. Lance avoided thinking about that, mostly because he didn’t remember any of it anyway. Except perhaps for a warm hand cupping his, helping him to his feet.

Another time Lance was unfairly reminded of what a bitch loss could be was when the castle had decided it was a good time to play its dirty little game with them all. Getting trapped in a Cryo Pod before nearly being ejected into space was a good reminder that his _life_ was very much something he could lose while undergoing his Paladin duties. He’d never been so thankful for the sight of that leather-clad hand reaching for him through the airlock door. Never been so thankful for air as he and Keith sat against the wall gasping for breath for several moments. He’d never thanked Keith for saving him, though he’d never thanked him for holding his hand that one time, so he wouldn’t start now. He’d wanted to cry after that, just have a big ol’ cry with Keith there beside him to maybe offer a little reassurance, but when the sound of the other boy’s voice cut through his shaky thoughts, he’d automatically snapped back a retort. He’d silently thanked Keith for distracting him into shouting instead of weeping like a baby.

It was why he’d acted so strung out with the others for the rest of the day, losing his temper at an alarmingly short rate, even at Hunk. Again, no one noticed the way his body shook with the sheer restraint to hold himself together. He was glad to run to the lions so he could sit down; his legs felt like jelly.

It had been a harsh reminder that his mortality was a very fragile and tedious thing. His life could snap so quickly, and so could his teammates'. He’d held them all a little snug since that day, watching their backs just a little more closely.

During his time with Voltron he continually felt the fast-becoming regular ache of loss hanging heavily off his shoulders, Ulaz becoming a harsh one and often disputed. The fragile tension his death left behind between Shiro and Allura in particular made Lance uneasy and Keith had started acting up even more than usual, which consequently kicked at Lance's asshole button. Though he’d spent a lot of time growing up with younger cousins hanging off his shoulders and he was used to family drama at home, so he managed to smile through it all. And it wasn’t all bad, after all, he had Kaltenecker, bless his soul.

They’d lost Allura, found Allura. Lost each other, found each other (Lance found a future mermaid wife, which was an exciting concept). They’d lost Keith a few times, physically and emotionally for a while. Lance remembered the stress of trying to rebuild to Arc of Taujeer with only four lions. He’d been sweating for more than just because of the quickly dissolving surface of the planet beneath them. He was humiliated by how defensive he sounded when Keith _finally_ decided to show up (with the Princess). Of course, he’d been worried, but he shouldn’t have had to be: Keith and Allura shouldn’t have run off and left them like that—vulnerable.

It worried Lance, the way they depended so heavily on the access to all five lions at once.

That was another thing he’d lost, he noted, his ability to run purely off a usual carefree nature. Suddenly he was stressing about things all the time, even small things like the smell of the soap. He found that his heart rate was rarely ever calm, found that falling asleep at night took longer and longer, found that he was feeling a lot like Hunk during his most anxious days back in the Garrison. He felt less like himself every day. He wished he could be carefree again and mean it 100%, and not use simply it as a ploy to either lift his or his teammates spirits.

Then they’d lost Shiro, and with him, Lance lost his confidence—all his conviction swept out from under him like a rug.

It flew out the window the second he saw that seat empty, his bayard still sticking out of its slot, the empty presence of the man who used to occupy the space, suffocating.

All their reactions had been different: Hunk—bless him and his future children, and his children’s children—kept himself put together, still smiled, though it was cracked around the edges and looked a little painful for him every time he did it. Pidge, was focussed, analytical, the first to jump into action and instantly began to examine the empty bayard for any sign of how Shiro vanished, though her hands shook badly. Allura was much the same, hard-core and brilliant—honestly girls were amazing, Lance loved girls so much, they were best people to have around ever—racing to her command post to scan the castle for Shiro’s energy signature, which disappointedly, but unsurprisingly, came up empty. Lance saw the tears track down her face when she shook her head to them. Coran’s reaction was…surprising. He’d been the first to exit the Black Lion and Lance had stumbled across him a little while later sniffling something like, “Not another one.” That had sparked his curiosity, but he swept it under the mat in favour of giving the older man his space. He’d retuned to them minutes later with that cheery smile and spring in his step. Coran was amazing.

Keith’s reaction was unsurprising: The Red Paladin, the one who was fuelled purely by the crazy instincts that coursed through his blood like fire, responded with anger. Confusion and grief was also among him, but they presented themselves in the devastatingly angry crinkled line between his eyebrows and the defiant spark in his eyes. Keith was really fucking mad, and Lance had the sneaky suspicion that it wasn’t all directed at the Galra, or Shiro. Lance knew self-blame when he saw it.

He was well equated with it now.

He heard the echo of Shiro’s words inside his mind, _“Lance, you take Hunk and get the Yellow one.”_ Besides his family, it was the most confidence anyone had ever invested in him, despite only knowing each other for a few hours. He remembered grinning at the order, felt it thrum through his veins and cause his heart to beat with twice its usual strength. Shiro, his idol (don’t tell anyone he used to cut out pictures of him from the Garrison newsletter every month (he really hoped no one found those when they were emptying out his dorm after he left earth)) had acknowledge him as an equal and as a fully capable comrade.

It was an addictive feeling, and he clung to it, craved it, grovelled for it ever since. He recalled, rather shamefully, the kick in his heart and pride when Shiro had called him _their sharpshooter_. He’d resisted the urge to scream like a little girl receiving her first pony. It felt so fucking good.

Never mind that anymore. Shiro was gone. No more confidence building shots into Lance’s ego anymore. He was all on his own now.

They’d all separated for a period before reconvening for dinner, and the weight of the impossibility of the task before them—whereby they had _no leader_ to tell them how to proceed—settled over them suffocatingly tight. Everyone looked stretched thin, down to their very bones. The Marmorite guy had left to grieve his own loss—poor Antok, taken too soon, another loss for the books—and Slav was…somewhere, in this reality, hopefully. The only noise came from the teeth clenchingly sharp clangs of their utensils hitting their bowls.

Lance looked down at his bowl of goo and felt his stomach roll with disgust.

He was sick of this stuff. Honest to God going to hurl it at a wall if he was forced to look at it one more time. He used his spoon to instead shovel it around his plate. Keith, beside him, hadn’t even picked up his spoon yet and was instead glaring down at his bowl like he could, through the sheer force of will alone, force Shiro into existence inside it. Lance imagined a tiny little Shiro sitting there in a bowl of goo waving up at them. “Miss me, you fucking dumbasses?” Though with less cursing, obviously—Shiro was a gentleman afterall.

Lance unexpectedly laughed at the image, it escaping too quickly for him to swallow back down.

Everyone—Coran, Allura, Pidge, Hunk and Keith—had all looked at him with startled faces.

“What’s so funny?” Keith said with contempt. He wasn’t quite dripping with it yet, but he would be soon if Lance didn’t say something to sand it all down.

He looked sheepishly around at them all. Christ, they all looked awful with dark circles around their eyes and various bruises now visible that they changed back into causal clothes.

“Oh,” he started. “I was just imagining mini Shiro sitting in Keith’s bowl of goo waving up at us calling us a bunch of fucking idiots.” He finished off with a little dwindling laugh as his confidence plummeted. It was the first time he had said a joke and hadn’t felt behind it even just a little bit.

Everyone stared at him for several long, long moments and Lance felt the urge to shrink back into his seat. _Stupid, stupid, to be joking at a time like this_. With Keith beside him he couldn’t see his expression, but Lance felt it on him like two hot iron pokers being dug into his skull. The air was thick with tension, his words hanging limply before them all.

Full of surprises tonight apparently, Keith— _Keith_ —laughed. It sounded more like a hiccup, but was still unmistakably a laugh. Had Lance ever heard Keith laugh before? It was a weird sound, and as he continued to break down into continuous bouts of laughter, Lance looked over to him with a worried expression and wandered if this was a good or bad thing. Lance kind of wanted him to stop as Keith broke down into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, holding his stomach and hiding his face with his arm. Around him, Lance noticed the others had begun to slowly, nervously, eyes flicking from each other to Keith as if asking for permission, laugh. Pidge was eventually laughing so hard she was leaning back in her seat, her hands braced in front of her on the table. Hunk was laughing while simultaneously scooping spoonful after spoonful of goo into his mouth. Allura was doing the same, making an unholy mess around her. Coran chuckled quietly, more reserved, kind of like an awkward father caught between remaining passive in the face of his child’s jokes but inevitably breaking down because ‘damn that kid’s hilarious.’

Gradually, their laughter began to die down, all the while Lance watched them with wide eyes. Under normal circumstances he might have giggled at the hilariousness of it all, but honestly, the whole thing had been just terrifying. _No one ever_ laughed at Lance’s jokes, unless they were Nymer, who was a _bitch_. His jokes simply weren’t funny. He used them merely as an icebreaker, that’s all. What Lance had just witnessed was a catastrophic mixture of long buried anxieties, fears, grief, stress, pain all bubbling up to the surface in one horrendous show of pathetic hilarity.

It worried Lance that he instead wanted to be reprimanded by Allura and yelled at by Keith, instead of this sickening laughter and then complete _silence_.

It hadn’t even been a day without Shiro and the team was already falling apart.Though admittedly, Lance didn’t imagine it to happen this way, and he realised why: because at the end of the day, he and everyone else, thought that, despite it all, their humanity was still in check. As if the countless losses, their's or the Galra’s, wasn’t taking a toll. But it had. Lance realised—as they all settled back down into the worst, most depressing, taught silence of his life—that somewhere along the line they’d lost their ability to function like normal human beings. After experiencing all this loss in its catatonic extremities, Lance felt absolutely _alien_ to himself. That’s what space did to you, he realised: it turned you inhumane. After all, without earth, what were they? Aliens. A bunch of insane alien lifeforms laughing hysterically in the face of their recent tragedy (success?). It was outrageous, this absurd reaction that severely undermined _normal_ human behaviour.

Glancing down at his goo, Lance mourned the loss of his past self, despairing over this shell of a creature he’d become, mourned the loss of the people around at him who were so strung out dry, that they found his jokes _funny_.

He didn’t even the recognise the faces around him now anymore, let alone himself.

Lance found he rather disliked losing things.


	2. Day Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, another little exploration into Lance's brain and a particular interaction that leaves him feeling vulnerable. As I said before, it's a bit of a darker one.

Shiro’s loss hit the team so hard that the consequent backlash from each of them had been profound. These creatures of his, the shells of his friends, these shocking and terrifying beings, continued to morph more and more into unrecognisable husks of their previous selves. They reminded Lance of a tree next to his home that had slowly died over time. When it died, it didn’t disappear, but instead transformed into a disfigured, skeletal form, its branches twisting outwards in exaggerated expressions of pain and anguish. It stayed exactly where it was, a shadow of its former glory—a teasing reminder. It stood there for years and years, long past its death as Lance’s mother never had the heart to get rid of it. Lance was sure if he returned home now that the dead tree would still be standing there.

That was what had become of his teammates, they’d become these twisted, disfigured versions of themselves. Suddenly Hunk gave up cooking and alternatively trained himself into exhaustion in the training room, where, comparatively, Keith had abandoned the training room to instead wander aimlessly around the castle’s abundance of empty halls. Pidge hadn’t touched her computer in a week and instead  _she_ was the one spending all her free time in the kitchen cooking. It was like all the Paladins had switched roles all of a sudden, it was so backwards it made Lance dizzy with bafflement. 

Coran and Allura had made themselves scarce and Lance could physically count the number of conversations he'd had with them on one hand—although, it might have been plenty likely that it was the Paladins themselves who had disappeared. Allura had made this big speech the day Shiro vanished about not allowing this to rip them apart, that they had to be stronger than ever and combine all their knowledge and strength to bring back their leader. And, yeah, Lance had actually believed in her words for short time, feeling a weak trickle of inspiration inside him. He'd even been optimistic enough to spend a couple of hours on the control deck running through various scans of nearby solar systems. Though once he realised he had no idea what he was doing his optimism had plummeted to sub-zero temperatures and he'd spent the rest of the night curled up on his Paladin seat having a hearty cry. 

In the morning, Keith had walked in on him, glanced at his red rimmed eyes and ruffled clothing and merely said, "You were a cry baby back on earth, I bet," and walked out again. He didn't even _do_ anything, just came, insulted Lance and left.  _What the fuck._ The insult had gone straight to Lance's unforgiving ego and fuelled him through the entire day, rekindling an old feeling inside him: resentment, and for the entire day Lance had felt somewhat _normal_ for the first time in weeks. He wondered if Keith had done it on purpose, knew it would serve as a distraction for Lance to focus on, but then decided he didn't like the thought of Keith understanding how Lance functioned. It felt too much like acknowledging the fact that they were friends, no longer rivals, and he wasn't ready to give up on that ridiculous idea just yet. It was the only thing that still connected him to his past self.  

The entire week following persisted with the same routine—Lance falling asleep in the control room at night and Keith waking him up in the morning with his endless _wandering_  to call him something nasty—though with every passing day they seemed to become weaker as his face gradually drained of light. _'I bet you cried on your first day of school', 'You've always been jealous of me', 'I think there's a zit on your chin', 'Has your piloting got worse?',_ eventually turned into a pathetic,  _'You're ugly,'_ as Keith's enthusiasm waned. His face became completely blank, like a computer with all its data taken out of it and was just repeating whatever it was told. Somehow within a week Keith's anger had given away to, literally, nothing. 

He'd become nothing.

"You," was all Keith could come up with this morning.  _You._

He wasn't even capable of completing fucking  _sentences_ anymore _. What the cheese?_

When Keith turned his back and began to exit the room, slowly, like he was walking through water, Lance erupted into action, not standing for this. 

"Keith," Lance called out to the Red Paladin's retreating form, leaning over the arm of his seat. 

The boy paused, the pale blue light from the hallway he was entering casting a long, humanoid shadow down from his feet, it vaguely reminded Lance of an alien and he banished the thought quickly from his mind. He needed to stop thinking about his teammates as aliens. It was assholeish and insincere to their plight. 

"Keith, buddy, where are you going?" he asked, casting a suspicious look at the other boy's back. He noticed that Keith wasn't wearing his ugly jacket anymore and wondered why when it was clear that he was cold without it, if the goose bumps on his arms had anything to say about it—a question for another time. 

"Forwards," was all Keith gave, his voice husky with disuse. 

"Wow, that's vague and a little disconcerting." 

Lance cursed his perpetually obnoxious mouth.

"Leave me alone, Lance," Keith said, he still hadn't turned around to face Lance.

"Nope. Thanks, but no thanks, you're the asshole who's disrupted my sleep every morning with your assholeish insults so you'd better be ready for me to be an asshole back. Equivalent exchange and all. You know me." 

"No, I don't," Keith responded, which had Lance flinching back into his seat at the harshness of the other boy's voice.  _Hefrickenwhat?_

Well, Lance hadn't exactly expected Keith to consider them best friends, but this seemed a little harsh coming from him, and it left Lance reeling and frustratingly hurt. Naturally, he reacted with a retort. "Oh, yeah? Why do you say that?" 

This time Keith did turn around, slowly, only half way, as a sliver of his pale face revealed itself beneath his mess of dark hair. Lance was disappointed when he saw no sign of that glittering temper inside his one visible eye. 

"Because," he began, slowly, like everything he did these days was, and held up his hand beside him. "When you talk, your mouth moves like this," His hand fluttered in what Lance presumed was an imitation of his mouth. _Offensive?_   "But your eyes don't match the way your mouth moves—the shit you spout out of that thing is different to whatever is going on inside your head. You lie. Better than any of us, and I hate it. I hate watching you say one thing but think another. I hate it because I don't know what you're thinking. Fuck, even your reactions to a genuine insult are fake, overdone, exaggerated, like you're compensating for something. All this time I've spent arguing with you, and not once have I ever heard you say anything real." 

Lance felt ice in his veins. So, Keith _was_ paying attention to him; testing him throughout the entire week, looking for what exactly? 

"Is that what this week was about?" Lance demanded, icy hot anger,  _real_ anger, slithering through his body, coiling up in the centre of his gut, ready to spring. "You were trying to get a reaction out of me? That was all? Playing with me? What, because you're feeling so shitty you have to see if you can make everyone else feel that way, too? Or was it just m—"

Keith's lips curled into a disconcerting grin which had Lance quickly reeling in his words, because he realised suddenly, exactly what Keith was seeking, and it sent white hot hatred through him. 

"There it is," Keith said, as if he'd seen the sudden shift inside Lance and sounding like he'd gained exactly what he wanted. 

That _prick_ —

 _No_. 

This is what Keith was after. 

Lance leapt up from his seat with the intention of storming off, putting his shoulders and back into making a big deal about what was really just aggressive walking. But storming off was only affective if you stormed away from the source of your anger, not straight into it. Keith stepped to the right as Lance moved that way to skirt around the other boy and felt a leather clad hand clamp around his arm, iron strong. Lance was suddenly aware of how strong Keith had become after all the hours he'd clocked in the training room. It most certainly wasn't all for nothing, as Lance jokingly liked to express when he intercepted Keith coming out from another session. He felt rooted in place. 

Keith used his hold to thrust Lance back a step, causing him to become unbalanced, and forced him into the wall behind him. Cornered.

Caged. 

His heart skipped a beat when those flat , emotionless eyes locked onto him. He was sure it was fear— _yeah,_ definitely fear. Lance recognised the familiar lump inside his throat as dread in the face of a threat. An enemy. 

But Keith wasn't an enemy, right?  _Right?_

The flash of purple within the other boy's eyes swiftly reminded him of the one thing that separated Keith from the rest of them. The reason why, subconsciously, Lance  _was_ afraid of Keith. 

_Galra._

Keith was Galra, well, half Galra, but who was keeping track of the human to Galra ratio? Not him. And Galra had claws, they had teeth sharp as knives and the strength of a wolf. All those things had been used to harm and kill innocents all over the universe. Those sickening yellow eyes the last thing some people ever saw before their lives were swiftly, brutally, tragically cut short. Lance loathed himself for thinking it, hated the way the coiling sensation curled in tight at the thought of Keith having some relation to those things. Lance didn't have many memories of his time during which the castle has been invaded by Sendak, though he did remember thinking he was going to die and that those ungodly yellow eyes would be the last thing he'd ever see. He remembered the Galra Commander leaning over him and grinning his large teeth at him, taking a hand to Lance's face and, deceptively soft, began to stroke down his cheek. _'I will enjoy ending your life. Not yet of course, orders and all, but in time—I can't wait to watch the light die out of your eyes, watch the way your jaw falls slack as you take your last breath.'_   

Lance remembered that—dreamt about it, wept about it until his pillow was soaked through. He'd had a conversation once with Shiro about it, when the nightmares had been at their worst, and recalled the Black Paladin calling it PTSD.  _Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder._ Shiro had comforted him that night, recounting his own stories about his time with the Galra, reassuring him that it was okay. It was okay to be afraid, he had a right to feel what he did. 

All those images transmuted and forced themselves back into his mind now—from where they had previously been banished to the far depths of his mind, barred from his memory—in the form of the young man standing in front of him, gripping his arm the same way Sendak had once done. He saw Keith as Galra, purple and terrifying, and a godawful sound tore completely unchecked out of his throat. It sounded between a cry and a grunt and it had Keith pulling away from him, the dead eyed look on his face morphing into one of horror. He snapped his hand back from Lance's arm, cradling it as if  _he'd_ been the one to have been caught in a death grip. Lance flattened himself against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest. 

"Lance—" Keith begun, but Lance interrupted, not wanting the other boy to get the first say in what happened next. 

" _You're a fucking sadist. Leave me the hell alone or I'll tell Allura what you_ _did_ ,"he hissed out between clenched teeth. 

He tore his way out of there as fast as his shaking legs would carry him, a proper storming out, he noted with a vague sense of accomplishment, though it was nulled by the overbearing feeling of emptiness inside him, as if something had just been stolen from him. 

Keith had just been using him this entire week as some kind of distraction from his own suffering. This whole time, despite what he said, Lance, secretly, had been hoping Keith was trying to make him feel better. Because a little pathetic part of Lance  _did_ believe that the two of them could grow to care for each other. 

Looking down to his right arm, Lance swallowed back his revulsion as he saw the red imprint that Keith's hand had left behind. 

He had been wrong, Keith hadn't become nothing over the last week, he'd become cruel, allowing his rage to silently fester and curdle inside him and slowly, bit by bit, let himself to take it out on Lance, purely for his fucking viewing pleasure. 

* * *

"Hey, Lance, buddy, hello?" 

Lance's head snapped up to Hunk, who had been calling to him from his place sitting on the bench in the kitchen, a hand held up in a half wave. Lance himself was sitting on the floor across from him, and he could hear the clutter of pots and pans and the whispered curses of Pidge behind him. She was legitimately the worst cook Lance had ever met and dreaded whatever she was cooking up for them. 

"Sorry, Hunk. Lost in thought for a second there. What's up?" He smiled back at his friend.  _His friend._ He kind of wanted to crawl onto Hunk's lap and just curl up there, safe and comfortable for a while. 

"I was actually going to ask you the same question. You seem kind of put off. Did something happen?" 

Was Lance that obvious? Jesus, he needed to get back on track with his self-monitoring skills before everyone suddenly saw what a scrambled mess he was on the inside. He shook his head and laughed, the way he knew would calm the other Paladin, the way he used to back in the Garrison days if he was ever feeling down but didn't want to show anyone. "It's fine, Hunk. Just losing a bit of sleep recently because of, ya know," he said, gesturing to the empty air with his hands as if that would explain it all. When he felt his sleeve fall back slightly he quickly tugged it back up to ensure the handprint on his arm stayed covered. 

There was a resounding grunt of agreement from both Hunk and Pidge. 

"Well, if there's anything you ever need to talk about, you know we're here, right?" contributed Pidge from above. Lance couldn't see whatever it was she was cooking, but it smelt awful and he certainly did not want any part of it when it came to serving. He sincerely hoped she didn't _actually_ plan on serving it. 

"Right," Lance replied, then, to himself.  _Right._

Lance rubbed at his stomach, where he felt the uncomfortable feeling of whatever was coiling inside his gut stir and slither—and hiss. Keith had awoken something in him, something old, foreign and wrathful, and Lance didn't know if he had the tools to contain it, whatever it was he was becoming. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the characters or story, it belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Feel free to leave advice or any corrections that I might have (definitely) missed. xx


	3. Day Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people around Lance are turning into strangers and there's a pain in his stomach. Keith is still an asshole.

" _What,_ in the name of Gandalf's beard, did you do to your hair?!" screeched Lance as he walked into the control room. It was day ten with no Shiro and Lance had had just about enough of his teammates screwing with his brain.

Pidge now insisted on cooking  _all_ their meals, breakfast lunch and tea; brunch, snacks, nibbles, midnight snacks and everything in between. She spent every minute of her free time assaulting Lance's mouth (because he seemed to be the only one around when she cooked (go figure)) with dozens of different combinations of the utterly disgusting. She'd been in the middle of trying to convince Lance to try her new soup—he used the term very loosely—when he'd quickly decided that he had an important conversation with Allura. And now that he was here, he realised that he, in fact, did have a dire conversation with the Princess. 

She looked startled at Lance's outburst, turning around from her usual post in the centre of the room and tugging at a lock of her silvery hair—which now only reached just under her chin. It was completely straight as well, and the image of it was so backwards that Lance had to spend a few more moments staring just to believe his eyes. 

Allura looked confusedly down to Lance. "What's a Gandalf?" she asked.

"A meme," Lance answered. Allura didn't look any less confused. "So," he continued, "the hair?"

"I cut it. Does it really look that bad?" she asked uncertainly. 

"No! No! No no no no! Christ, no," Lance squawked, his hands flying out in front of him as if he could wipe the away self-conscious look on her face. "It looks great. I was just surprised because, you know, it's a big change. Honestly, I'd still think you look good with no hair and a moustache so you have nothing to worry about." She smiled gratefully down at him for that, her hand continuing its nervous administrations in her hair. "But—why?" 

She turned back to face the giant window, resting her hands upon the controls. Lance saw her shoulders rise and fall with the weight of her breath and he cautiously made his way towards her, avoiding stepping into the inner circle of her control deck. She might have been his friend, but she was still a Princess, and he, merely a nobody human from a backwater planet nobody knew about. Literally. No one knew about it, he'd asked at least ten different aliens and they all responded with the same, "Earth? Never heard of it." Lance was deeply offended by this.

He really was a nobody in the scope of the universe which meant there was an invisible platform between him and Allura that would always seperate them, her being a somebody and all. A  _Princess._

"I'm not sure, really. I just felt like a change. My hair before—it felt like there was too much of it, it made me feel like I was suffocating. Especially at night, falling asleep became impossible because I felt like it was smothering me, clutching at my shoulders and face. I got up in the middle of last night and just suddenly decided I wanted it gone," she said with a new kind of gravity. It had Lance cocking his head in intrigue. "All of you, the Paladins and Coran, you all address me still as 'Princess,' but with every passing day, with every failed mission and sacrifice, I feel less and less deserving of that title." 

Lance was standing beside her platform, hands behind his back, in his Paladin gear as Allura had suggested it might renew their sense of purpose again. His head was angled halfway towards her, and halfway towards the window. "How do you mean?" he asked, hushed, feeling the drop in the mood like a weight in his stomach. 

Allura, also in her flight suit, leant heavily forwards onto the control panel, as if she might topple over and it was the only thing holding her up. "I mean, I've abandoned many of the values I held so dear to myself ten thousand years ago, all the values that earned me the right to claim the title Princess, I've tossed them all away, done things I never thought myself capable of. Treated my own family like an enemy—hurt them. I don't have the right to call myself a Princess when I can't even treat my own family how they deserve." 

Lance was baffled, he couldn't think of a single time she'd ever treated him with anything but the utmost respect. She'd embraced them all into her arms the moment they met, never—

_Oh._

"You mean Keith?" Lance felt the name burn his mouth like scalding water. 

Allura nodded, her eyes falling closed. "I mean Keith." 

Lance glanced away, not feeling entitled to see the Princess this vulnerable. It made him uncomfortable, Allura had always been the strongest of them, the most capable and the one who kept her focus no matter how the situation crumbled. She was rock-solid. Reliable. Unshakeable, even after her father had (died?)—exhausted, after reviving the Balmera—but still fully capable of leading the situation with a strong hand. This side of Allura was a shocking revelation to Lance, though he should have known better, that even the Princess had her limits, had her demons that ate away at her at night like the rest of them. 

"If it's any consolation Keith is a bastard, so don't feel too bad," Lance offered, smiling off into the vastness of space. 

She let out a faint chuckle and then fell silent again, which, for once, Lance didn't know how to fill. Whatever equation was running through her mind it was clearly something she had decided to tackle alone. Lance knew that if she wanted help she would've asked. 

Or perhaps, he thought, he simply wasn't the right person. 

Lance had no doubt that the person she wanted so desperately to share her feelings to was the one currently lost to the stars, a million miles away. No wonder she looked so alone.

So, Lance left the Princess—Allura—alone. He wasn't the one she wanted there with her, and he'd respect that. He didn't know how someone like him could comfort a Princess anyway, embracing her, even placing a hand on her shoulder, felt like he'd be crossing some invisible line. 

"See you later...Allura," he said over his shoulder, quietly. As he left he saw her shoulders drop with relief when he didn't use her title. 

Lance walked out of the room feeling worse than he had when he walked in. That seemed to be the status quo every time he crossed one of his teammates these days. 

* * *

Lance found Hunk sitting with his legs crossed on the floor of the training room, guzzling down the putrid energy drink that Coran insisted they drank after every workout. Lance saw four other empty packs around him and instantly became concerned. The Yellow Paladin's face was dripping with sweat, his hair glistening with it, and he had an intense flush high on his cheekbones. 

"Hey, pal," Lance said breezily as he walked in, trying to shake off the weird conversation he'd had with Allura. "Working hard or hardly working?" 

Hunk grinned around his straw and offered Lance to sit beside him with a wave of his hand. Lance instantly took the offer and curled up beside his friend, though the Paladin suits made it difficult to do so comfortably. Lance practically preened at the warmth Hunk radiated beside him. It reminded him of the feeling of the sun on his back when he was on earth. Hunk in general reminded him of earth and Lance constantly found himself feeling an awful sense of loss whenever he looked at his friend. It was strange, it was like being homesick in the backyard of his own home. Lance would never tell Hunk how he was the source of so much comfort and pain at the same time, he couldn't do that to him. 

Lance's head flopped over to rest on Hunk's shoulder. 

"What's up?" Hunk laughed, patting Lance's head as he finished off his drink. 

"Allura cut her hair," Lance blurted out automatically. "I'm grieving, despite the fact she still looks rocking. And I've got a sore stomach because of Pidge's cooking." 

"What?! You're serious? Gee, I've gotta see this." 

"Later," Lance said, gripping firmly onto Hunk's arm to keep him rooted where he was. "For now, let's just chill here and let the universe fall away for a moment, like a chick flick movie." 

Lance felt Hunk's body vibrate through both their suits with his laughter and leant even further into him, despite how their suits protested. He closed his eyes. 

"No can do, buddy, I've got one more round to go before I can pretend I'm in a romantic comedy," Hunk said, and Lance cried out in protest as his body pulled away from Lance when he stood. 

"Not even for five minutes?" 

Hunk's bayard flashed into existence and Lance saw the muscle's in Hunks strong arms go taunt as he gripped the massive weapon in both hands. "Nope, sorry. Can't break routine."  

"That sounds like something Keith would say," Lance grumbled, grimacing as his stomach cramped suddenly, knocking the breath out of him. It had been happening daily ever since Keith had admitted to playing with Lance's feelings for a whole week. Lance could mostly ignore it, but it still concerned him. 

Speaking of concerns, Lance was still stumped over if he should be worried for Hunk. On the one hand the other Paladin had started up a very healthy routine in the training room, actively working out and correcting any skills he was lacking, he was eating properly and constantly taking in fluids. His skin had a healthy glow to it, and not just because of the sweat he built up when working out. Hunk...seemed to be in his prime and Lance didn't know if that was an insult to Shiro's disappearance or not. Surely, it warranted some form of misery from the Yellow Paladin. Lance quickly realised that was a terrible thing to think—he should be glad Hunk was taking such good care of himself. On the other hand, it was completely out of character for him. Hunk never specifically overate, but he was always eager to top his plate off just a little more than necessary and he was terrible at keeping his fluids up, let alone keeping a constant routine for himself in the training room. It's why he and Lance got along so well together; they were both just a little messy. 

"You know, maybe Keith had a point though, about keeping up a constant training routine," Hunk said, hoisting his weapon into position as the simulation began, the lights in the room dimming as a swarm of flying bots hurtled their way towards him. "I've honestly never felt better." 

Hunk took them all down flawlessly, his aim absolutely spectacular and Lance gulped back the sticky sensation in his throat. Wasn't precision shooting his thing?  _Shiro_ said it was, he was their Sharpshooter, after all. Lance found that the sticky sensation wouldn't disappear and made a face when a fresh roll of cramps burned his stomach. 

"Wow, that was amazing, Hunk!" he cheered—a distraction. 

Hunk smiled sheepishly at Lance and gave a wave, like it was no big deal. 

It was no big deal. It was no big deal. It was—

No big deal. 

Lance didn't believe it for a second. 

* * *

Turns out, when you thought too long about space, spent too much time  _in_ space, all the movies you ever watched about space became annoyingly inaccurate. Foremost, movies like Star Wars, where there seemed to be an agreed upon direction in space between all the spaceships, when there quite literally was absolutely _no_ direction. There was no up or down, left or right, yet all the spaceships in the movies were all the same way up, always travelling on a linear path when there was nothing at all linear about space. Lance had no clue which way was up or down anymore and it was disorienting and upsetting. Earth had left him totally unprepared for a reality without direction. Stupid Star Wars, making it seem so simple. 

He was outside the castle now, helping out Coran with some repairs after the beating it took against Zarkon. They'd had multiple system failures throughout the last ten days and they had even spent three evenings eating dinner in total darkness because the lights stopped working. It had been _awkward_ , to say the least, when Lance and Keith accidentally brushed hands when reaching for the bowl of (whatever Pidge had cooked, Lance legitimately had no clue anymore). Lance had felt the throb of the bruise under his sleeve when he quickly pulled his hand away and hunched over his sore stomach. He left dinner early without a word to anyone, and thankfully they gave him his space.

Lance had cried for Shiro that night, had missed him more than ever and would have done anything just to hear him tell him it was okay. He was allowed to cry and miss him. That was the thing about the Black Paladin, he had a way of validating everyone's feelings and ensuring them that they had a right to their own anxieties. He'd never hugged Shiro before, but that night Lance would have potentially sold a kidney for even one. Thinking back, Lance didn't blame Allura for seeking Shiro alone for comfort, besides Hunk and Coran, of course, he was the most effortlessly kind person on this castle.

"There," Lance said, closing the panel with a click. "All done."

"We still have eleven more to do, Blue," Pidge scoffed, closing her own panel. Another interesting development had been Pidge resorting to calling all the Paladin's by the colour of their lions.

Pidge had always been interesting person, boy or girl, but this was new and strange. Lance remembered a time back in the Garrison when he'd been fixated on befriending her, and how thrilled he'd been when she (he? at the time) agreed to come to their first team outing to the museum. Though she had always seemed distracted, never really dedicating herself as much as Hunk and Lance wished she would, and always kept them at arms reach. He knew why now, of course, but it had been frustrating at first, to feel looked overtop of by a girl two and a half feet shorter than him, like he was another hurtle for her to overcome. 

Lance loved Pidge now more than anything, though, terrible cooking and all. 

"I know, I know. Just documenting out loud here, don't mind me." 

"Trust me, we don't," intercepted Keith's voice over the comms and Lance nearly turned his connection off just so he wouldn't have to hear him. 

_Prick._

"Shut up,  _Red_ ," Lance hissed. He was annoyed at the genuine emotion in his voice, remembering how it was exactly what Keith was trying to dig out of him. He imagined Keith's triumphant and terrible grin on the other side of the comms and bit back a growl.

Pidge, who was with Lance, gave him an anxious look behind her helmet but held back from commenting. Lance missed the time when Pidge would speak her mind even at the most inappropriate and sensitive of times. All of a sudden she was filtering everything she said and Lance despised it—despised the way the words would dissipate as soon as she opened her mouth.

Keith didn't respond to Lance's retort and they continued to work for the next hour in tense silence, Pidge, unnaturally restrained, Keith, brooding and angry, Lance, _uncomfortable_. There was no background noise in space to fill the gaps in conversations and it left him feeling hollowed out. Once they had finished, they converged together at the front of the castle to decide what had to be done next. Coran butted in at one point to mention that the communication antenna ought to be inspected in case there was any damage and they all headed towards that direction— _in more silence._

On their way, Lance had paused after hearing a faint groaning sound, he'd turned around to find the source of the sound when he heard Keith shout his name and a hand wrapped around his arm to pull him to the side. Just in time, as a giant chunk of metal came flying towards where he was a moment ago. If Lance had stayed there a second longer the metal panel would have taken his head off, another vibrant reminder of how fragile his life was out here. Why hadn't George Lucas warned him of  _that,_ huh? 

When Lance finished berating George Lucas for almost costing him his life he glanced down to the hand that gripped his arm—in the same place Keith had held him captive three days ago.

It was the exact same hand.

Vaguely Lance noticed that the momentum of Keith pulling Lance out of the way had sent them spiralling away from the castle and Lance's stomach lurched into his throat as they spun round and round. Keith, calmly, pulled him in a little closer, their bodies crowding in together, and used his thrusters to slow their movements, gradually gaining control enough to rocket them back towards the castle. Lance desperately wanted to pull away from him, to get his damn hand off his arm, which hurt a fuck ton as Keith gripped on deathly tight, but his body was too shaky for him to completely trust himself.

When they were hovering safely over the castle again Keith still didn't let go, but instead pulled Lance closer, peering through his visor at Lance's face, eyes unreadable.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the most normal thing he'd said to Lance in the last ten days. 

Lance swallowed against his dry throat and nodded, weakly trying to pull his arm from Keith, but he apparently had other ideas. He held firm, reaching up with his other hand to rap his knuckles against Lance's helmet. It jostled Lance from his trance and squeezed a glare out of him. Keith, thefuckingfuck, grinned that sick grin back at him and laid his hand flat against Lance's helmet. 

"Good. I need you in top shape." 

Lance, stupefied, stuttered, "Wh—what?" He cleared his throat and tried again. "What?" he asked firmly.

"I'm still waiting for the real Lance to show up and crawl outside this false version of himself," Keith said simply, deceivingly pleasant. "I can't have you all messed up if that's going to happen."  

Hefuckingwhat?

Did that asshole not learn anything from the other day? Lance thought he'd at least have the dignity to quit playing this game with him, but here he was, still at it, obsessed with destroying Lance's walls like it was any of his business.

His stomach cramped again just as Keith gently pushed Lance away from him, sending him floating away, that grin still plastered on his face. Gradually the cramps died down, only to give way to that slithering sensation once again as the coil drew tighter inside himself. Keith was going to continue messing with him, he realised, because that was his way of coping with losing Shiro (whatever he was to Keith, it was important enough to apparently justify bullying Lance) and Lance knew, in a way, that it wasn't his fault. Keith was driven by instinct, it dictated his actions like the bit inside a horse's mouth. He was subject to his own will, but that didn't justify him messing with Lance like this, trying to coax out the worst parts of the Blue Paladin like they were his to own. 

By the end of the day Lance had abandoned everyone to instead lay down in his bed. He curled around his stomach, gripping it with shaking hands as the slippery crawling sensation continued to wrack his body with pain. He shut himself away, just for now, the entire day having worn him down to his bones with a contradicting flood of emotions. He felt hallowed out and lonely, mourning the loss of his friends and terrified of these strangers around him. 

All these dead trees. 

The castle was a graveyard. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired so I bet there is gonna be a heap of mistakes, please let me know if you find anything confusing or any bad grammar. I'm a perfectionist with my writing lol 
> 
> I don't own the characters/story, they belong to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Referenced: Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. 
> 
> lol I dunno what I'm doing halp


	4. Day Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try and get their shit together, it's somewhat successful. Lance is confused a lot.

Space was no place for a cow. 

It had been consecutively decided between team Voltron that Kaltenecker should be removed from the castle and taken to the Olkarians so he would be out of danger. They'd landed in Olkari a couple of days ago to re-stock on some supplies and properly repair the castle. Pidge had been ecstatic when they arrived and instantly leapt into Reiner's arms with a shout of joy. The others had hung back to give the Green Paladin a chance to regain her composure, Lance holding Kaltenecker's rope in his hand after being honoured the role as the team's cowsitter. After two days of repairs and restocking Voltron was ready to move on again. As Lance had said goodbye to the cow, he'd leant into the animal and muttered, "I still think you would have made a better Black Paladin than Keith." 

That was another shocking (was it, really?) development: Shiro wanted Keith to lead Voltron. There were many reasons why Lance thought that was a bad idea, foremost being that Keith was more than unstable right now, and secondly, they still only had four Paladins. They needed five lions to form Voltron. Putting Keith into the Black Lion didn't change a thing if it meant Red had no pilot. It was a mess, and Allura had been growing increasingly unsatisfied with their teamwork of late. Keith and Lance hardly even talked these days unless it was absolutely necessary, Hunk was always busy being productive with something—likely becoming a better shot than Lance—and Pidge seemed to have lost all her wits and hardly ever talked at all. 

During their meeting this morning, the day after departing Olkari—whereby they had all gathered in the common area to discuss their next plan of action in the face of news that the Galra were regrouping after almost two weeks without their leader—the only one's who had so far contributed to the conversation were Allura, Lance and Hunk. Coran could be forgiven on the basis that he was fixing something. Keith had merely muttered out faint agreements and Pidge remained silent the entire time, staring at the wall opposite her. Rumour had it that the Galra had a new leader who was in the middle of reorganising their command before they set their sights on Voltron for revenge. 

They must be prepared, Allura had informed firmly. An attack was imminent. 

And they must be able to form Voltron. 

Huh, fat chance of that when they only had four pilots. 

"We only need one other person to pilot Red, how hard could that be?" Hunk asked, sitting up straight in his seat, guzzling down another energy drink. Lance had the suspicion he was drinking so many so he could avoid as much of Pidge's cooking as possible. 

"Harder than you think," Allura observed. "As you know the Red Lion is extremely temperamental and difficult to command. She needs a pilot of experience and daring, which is why Keith was chosen in the first place. You can't replace him with just anyone." 

"Shiro seemed to think he could be replaced with just anyone," countered Lance, unhelpfully, knowingly digging a knife into an important conversation, but old habits die hard. Plus, he had a stronger motive now. 

Keith, sitting across from Lance, merely narrowed his gaze in on him. 

Of course Lance didn't mean what he said, that would have been an insult to Shiro, and he'd never dare insult his idol. He said it because he knew it would irritate Keith. If Keith so badly wanted Lance to stop filtering himself and bare himself nude for the world to see, then Lance would fight him every step of the way. He was far from over the debacle they'd had in the control room, and outside the castle—his stomach was still hurting more than ever. He'd be damned if he let Keith get away with fucking with him unscathed. 

"You know that's not true, Lance," Allura scolded. Lance preened at the bite in her voice, he'd missed being scolded by the Princess, it felt as natural as breathing and made everything feel a little more normal. "Shiro never made decisions that he hadn't already carefully deliberated first. If he believed Keith was the right choice, then Keith is the right choice. Simple as that." 

"Right." This was from Kolivan, who had apparently decided he'd spent enough time grieving to once again join the team. "The Red Paladin has proven himself capable time and time again. I believe he is suitable for the task, but the question is: Does the Black Lion think the same? It doesn't matter how much we think you're right for the role, if the lion doesn't think so, then we're still at a standstill, which cannot stand." 

"We can cross that hurtle when we come to it," Hunk reassured with a smile, forever comforting those in distress. 

"For now, we must figure out how to tackle the Red Lion," contributed Allura, redirecting the conversation back on track. Her hair, naturally bouncy with fruitful curls, looked even shorter today as she hadn't straightened it (did Alteans have straighteners?) and it was especially jarring to Lance. However, she looked focussed again, the trip to Olkari having apparently rekindled a fire inside her again. Though he still saw her wince whenever some addressed her as Princess. Her finger tapped against her chin as she thought. "We need someone Red can trust." 

"Lance should be the one to pilot her," said Keith suddenly, straightforward as if it were completely obvious, like they were all idiots. 

Lance's head whipped from Allura to Keith in an instant, his mouth falling open. _Come again?_

Everyone else around seemed to have similar expressions of shock on their faces, except for Kolivan, though Lance didn't think his face ever changed from its usual dead serious expression, as if everything were another dangerous mission. Keith merely leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed, his eyes steadily focussed on Lance. 

Hunk was the first to break the silence. "Well, yeah, that could work, but it doesn't solve the problem because that would just mean Blue was pilotless. We're still stuck in the same position as before." 

"I think Keith might be onto something, actually," Pidge finally contributed, leaning forwards in her seat, her glasses catching on the lights in the room, causing her to look very disconcertingly inhuman. Lance bit back his unease. He caught Hunk shuffling nervously in his seat, his face looking uncomfortable. Belatedly, Lance realised how far away the two were sitting from each other; Hunk on the end of one couch, and Pidge at the opposite end of the other. He was instantly suspicious. "Red won't accept a Paladin who doesn't have experience. Keith was already an amazing pilot when they first bonded, so her choosing him makes sense, and now that Lance has spent so long piloting Blue, his piloting skills are pretty on par with Keith's. He's the best option."

Lance beamed at the compliment and felt compelled to swoop in and kiss the girl on the cheek. It was the best thing anyone had ever said to him, besides Shiro calling him their Sharpshooter, of course, because honestly nothing could top that. 

"And seeing as Blue has a much more stable temperament it will be far easier for us to find her another Paladin," Allura said, her enthusiasm slowly increasing, a spark shining inside her amazing eyes. 

Keith was still staring at Lance, and, feeling brave, Lance stared right back, silently trying to convey the phrase,  _the fuck you up to, man?_ whilst still containing some semblance of confidence. Confidence he didn't feel, because how was  _he_ supposed to pilot the Red Lion? Lance and Red had completely opposite personalities and he didn't like the prospect of leaving Blue behind. Furthermore, Lance didn't trust Keith's intentions. He'd simply suggested the idea—he didn't give his reasoning why, everyone else had spoken up before he had a chance. 

But nevertheless, it had been decided: Once Keith was able to pilot Black, Lance would try his luck with Red while they searched for a replacement for Blue.

Lance couldn't help one last bitter,  _here I am again, stuck in that bastard's shadow._

* * *

The dumb ass who was taking over Zarkon's position was called Lotor, they learned later that day from a Marmorite informant when they were eating lunch, and Allura had turned deathly pale as Kolivan went on to explain the situation.

"He's a bastard; one part Glara, the other, Altean. You must be wary of him, Princess, you can't tackle him like you did with Zarkon. Zarkon was a purest, only full blooded Glara were accepted into his Commanding ranks, any half-breeds were disposable, replaceable. He was very straightforward and narrow minded and in the end it was his obsession with reclaiming the Black Lion that was his demise. He became distracted and lost sight of the bigger picture and his fixation on having only pure blooded Galra in his ranks cost him greatly, as many of his Commanders ended up fool-hearty and vain." 

"Space Nazis," Lance explained. 

He received six raised eyebrows for this.

"Lotor is none of those things. His ranks consist mostly of rejected half-breeds denied any Command positions because of their bloodlines. He's focussed and incredibly intelligent. He won't attack you head on like Zarkon did, you won't even see him coming. He'll attack from the sides, weaving in between you all and attacking your weaknesses, tearing you apart from the inside and only then attacking from the front, when you're all at your weakest. Everyone on this ship has to be closer than ever, you must know each other better than you know yourselves, or you will surely fall to pieces." 

Lance was sitting besides Hunk on the lounge during this, curled up into his side. Hunk had his arm around his shoulder, radiating his natural warmth. He'd leant further back, as if he could disappear entirely into Hunk's arm, when Keith's eyes had snapped to his at the end of Kolivan's warning and his stomach churned and rolled with pain.

His mouth felt dry as Keith smiled.

* * *

"I know Lotor's supposed to be a bad guy and all, but really he sounds like a progressive dude. I mean, recruiting rejected half-breeds as his Commander's, that's something Oprah would do if she were a big purple fury. I bet he's a feminist, too—and an LGBT ally. Man, if he wasn't evil and all this guy would be the bee's knees," Lance droned on excitedly to Hunk as the Yellow Paladin ran through some punch combinations in the training room. 

Hunk didn't respond with words, but with a heavy grunt as his fists flew through the air in a complex combination, his face was stiff and focussed, like Keith's was whenever he trained. 

"I'd definitely date the guy if he weren't the bastard heir of pure evil." 

Hunk paused, his hand in the middle of an uppercut, and swivelled his head towards Lance, eyes wide. "You're gay?" 

Lance, leaning against the wall, foot propped up against it behind him and his hip cocked out, shook his head. "Nope." 

"I don't understand," Hunk said, bewildered. 

Lance let out a sharp bark of laughter, his head angling up towards the ceiling. "Neither do I." 

Hunk shrugged like it was no big deal, which Lance was eternally,  _eternally_ grateful for. The last few months had been a confusing and ambiguous series of events, happening so quickly that Lance's brain was left spinning on its axis. A notable development was the way in which Lance had found himself noticing things about his team. Spending so much time together, with nothing around them except the vast emptiness of space, meant that Lance was forced to spend a heck ton of time with them all. He'd be sitting on the couch beside Shiro and find his attention reeled in by the way the Black Paladin's shoulders moved, shifted and flexed under his extremely tight shirt. He excused these thoughts as just being concern for Shiro's health inside such  _constricting_ clothing and moved on, but only for another three hours before be began to notice the shape of Keith's collar bones under his shitty black t-shirt—and Hunk's arms, and Allura's waist. 

Lance became stressed and extremely afraid for his sanity as he slowly lost himself to watching his teammates in highly inappropriate ways. He felt himself flush when Shiro smiled at him, felt his stomach tie up in knots when Hunk touched him in that casual way of his, felt his breath crudely stolen from him when Keith offered one of his rare smiles. The soft ones, like the one after they took down Sendak, not these new ones, with curled lips and dead eyes. 

A loud bang tore Lance out of his mind and back to Hunk, who, to Lance's horror, had collapsed onto the ground—unmoving. The thing inside his gut slithered and hissed and Lance fought back a cry of pain as he raced to his friend. 

"Hunk!" 

His hands were on his friend instantly, rolling him onto his back so he could check he was breathing. When he felt a strong puff of air against his hand he moved down to grasp his wrist and sighed when he felt the pulse throb under his touch. Alive and well, just exhausted. Lance supposed Hunk's body was still adjusting to his new routine but couldn't help the tingle of concern. It was unhealthy to train yourself into passing out, Shiro warned them about it all the time. A painful shrill shot through him at the thought of Shiro—he would have prevented this from happening at all. Lance felt the tingle of panic in the ends of his fingers as they grasped his friend's face and gently tapped his hand against Hunk's sweaty cheek. 

"Hey, bud, you gotta wake up. I can't carry you to your room by myself," he gently coaxed. Hunk only let out a groan. 

A voice from the door. "What's wrong with Hunk?" 

_Keith._

Lance's stomach seethed to the point his brain felt dizzy with the force of it. 

"What does it look like?" he grit out through clenched teeth. Hunk was  _his_ friend, why couldn't Keith go find his own? "He passed out." Lance's head shook with shame as he looked down at Hunk's unconscious face, saw the crinkled line between his brows and bit back tears.

He heard the incoming footfalls as Keith made his way further into the room, each one like the sound of a canon ball being dropped on the ground. It caught Lance's attention—Keith was walking with purpose again, heavy and quick. He glanced up just as Keith came to stand beside Lance's crouched form, his face serious. His razor sharp cheekbones cut deep lines into his face which made the Red Paladin look deadly and beautiful at the same time. Lance shook that thought swiftly out of his head. 

After a moment of staring down at Hunk and Lance, Keith said, "I'll help you get him to his room." And moved to Hunk's other side, gathering one of Hunk's heavy shoulders into his arms. Lance did the same. He was out of options. "One, two, three." 

They hoisted Hunk up with a mighty heave. 

* * *

After depositing Hunk into bed, Lance working on removing the armour off his unconscious form while Keith fetched a glass of water for him from the bathroom, they shut his bedroom door and stood in silence. Lance was looking down at his feet, and Keith was looking at  _Lance_. He imagined if he had a flashing sign above his head like the ones in Hollywood, it would flash the word ' _uncomfortable_ ' in red warning lights. Seriously, Keith's gaze was intense and Lance felt himself beginning to sweat under his armour and was itching to get out of it. 

"You know I'd never hurt you, right?" Keith suddenly broke the silence, his body flopping over to lean on the wall. His tone was coaxing, and Lance would have believed him if it weren't for the ugly bruise in the shape of a handprint on his arm. 

"You already did, so forgive me if I'm a little unconvinced," Lance responded bitterly, the words tasting like vomit. He didn't want things to be like this between he and Keith. Before—before all this Shiro shit—it had all been a game between them, words were thrown around like a pingpong ball across the table, but they were never hit with any kind of weight behind them. Now, suddenly, it was like Keith had thrown a baseball across the table just to mix things up. Lance was pretty certain he had some kind of emotional concussion. A sick stomach was a symptom of concussion, right? 

Lance could see Keith's face collapse, on the inside though, like a building being blown up from the within; he could see the plaster cracking and chipping away from the surface, and that was all. 

"I didn't mean to react like that. I shouldn't have grabbed you," Keith rushed, eyes downcast. 

Lance's face twisted. "You know what, I'm not even pissed about that as much as I am about you using me—still using me, actually—as your emotional crash test dummy. I don't care about a fucking bruise on my arm. I care about the fact that you have some sick mandate to mess with me. All those insults, I thought you were just joking, so I played along with it, I thought you were being _nice_." Lance's voice was twisting into something ugly and foreign. He thought back to the unearthly sound the wind made whistling through the dead tree outside his bedroom window at night, how frightening and twisted it was compared to the gentle rustle of leaves. That's what he sounded like now. "But instead you had to go ahead and laugh at me. Did you actually mean all those things you said? Because if you did—if you did, why do you want me to pilot Red? I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't deserve this. This complete and utter horse shit treatment." 

Lance gasped as hands reached for him, instantly readying himself for a fight, but was shocked into deathly silence when Keith's arms curled over his shoulders and hooked themselves to Lance. He practically hung off them as his head burrowed its way into Lance's chest. Lance's arms were caught halfway between waving adamantly in the air as he tried to convey his anger. His entire body went frozen. His eyes slowly slid down to look at Keith's dark head resting on his breastplate. It can't have been comfortable, his nose must have been all mushed up against it. Lance realised Keith had begun crying when his entire body started to lurch and shake. 

What a strange, shifting person Keith was.

Lance hated it, loathed it, the way he suddenly decided to collapse in front of him, as if he expected Lance to pick him up and comfort him. Keith didn't deserve it, but he was expecting comfort anyway, because he assumed that Lance would, despite  _everything._  Because he thought Lance would still somehow excuse his behaviour.His stomach clenched down on itself. 

So Lance didn't comfort him—refused to—but he didn't push him away, either. He stood there with his arms still raised in the air and waited for Keith to have his fill. He didn't touch him. Didn't offer words of solace or wipe the snot from his chin like Lance a week ago would have. Keith continued to break down as Lance felt his body freeze over, his heart filling with cement, and his blood turning into acid. And he felt nothing. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! Don't expect my updates to be this often after tomorrow bc Uni starts and I wanna cry. 
> 
> Characters/story belong to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Oprah says hi. xx


	5. Day Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is hurting, and not just because of Shiro's disappearance. Casualties ensue, but not how you think.
> 
> This gets intense and now that I'm reading it I realise a lot of it has come from personal experience. It's become almost like a look into my own mind as well as Lance's and I'm sweating here and it's like only 10 degrees.
> 
> Oh yeah, this is changing to 'Thirty-One Days' from now on.

Lance and Hunk saved an entire planet together (again).

Don't forget they saved a planet full of mermaids, too. Lance paraded that one around daily. 

It had felt pretty mc'fricken incredible and it was something that continually reminded Lance that they were in fact having some successes as well as failures these days.

Though the failures always seemed to greatly out weight the successes, Lance always forced himself to remain constructive. It was becoming harder and harder, he noticed, took him far longer to convince himself to keep his chin up, but Lance eventually managed to see the little glimmer of success again. 

It only seemed to be whenever Keith and Lance—or Hunk and Pidge, for that matter WTF!?—were on missions together that Voltron failed so spectacularly. Thus, Allura had decisively split them into 'legs' and 'arms' for less intense missions to limit the amount of failures they had been depressingly building up. It was working for the most part—Hunk and Lance having rescued another planet from domination while Pidge and Keith collected data from a nearby Glara ship—but it wasn't a strategy that could last forever.

Voltron was a weapon that relied heavily on equivalent exchange. Which meant two legs working together would never be as affective as a leg  _and_  an arm. It was all about balance. Keith and Pidge's bayard's were both close combat oriented, whereas Hunk and Lance's were long-ranged. Shiro had always organised individual missions precisely so they'd have at least one close-ranged fighter and a long-ranged shooter to back them up. It  _worked_ that way. It was an equal exchange of skills. 

Keith and Lance's teamwork on the Balmera had been proof of that. They  _were_ a good team, Lance knew that, he mourned it every time he found himself struggling to get on top of all his targets at once. He knew what he needed. He needed Keith in the middle of the fray thinning out their troops while Lance picked off the strays, clearing them a path. 

But they couldn't even be trusted to watch each other's backs anymore, and neither could Pidge and Hunk. 

So Allura kept them separated, much to her displeasure. It worked, but shakily. 

Kolivan reiterated this fact every time they had a team meeting, his face gradually transforming into perpetual vexation as the team fell apart—ripping at the seams. To Keith and Pidge's credit, they had begun contributing once again as they worked out how to evade the looming threat of Prince Lotor while they waited for Black to accept Keith as her new Paladin. So far, it was a total disaster. Black refused to open to anyone, had laid there on the hanger floor lifeless for seventeen days. Lance couldn't help thinking the worst, if perhaps she was mourning Shiro...because he was already dead. 

It was a dangerous thought to have in his head when the team was so carefully trying to balance itself out again, and he never dared to mention it to anyone for fear of how it would affect them all. Lance couldn't risk breaking them apart anymore than they already had. 

But Lance and Hunk saved an entire planet, and that was a success. 

And it deserved to be celebrated. Though Pidge didn't seem to have the same idea. 

"Sorry, I'm not really feeling it tonight," she said to Lance, who had carefully entered the kitchen, wary of any food that might come flying his way. 

"Why the heck not?" he asked, a fraction annoyed that she wasn't embracing the rare good mood filtering through the castle as of late. Hunk and Lance had suggested trying to figure out the pool finally, on the basis that everyone could use some loosening up.

She shook her head. "Sorry, Lance, I just don't feel like it. Besides, I can't even swim."  

"You don't need to know how to swim, Pidge, you can just sit to the side if you want," he coaxed, leaning forwards on the bench and peering into the girl's golden eyes, which were downcast, focussed on stirring a bowl of something that looked loosely like cake batter. Lance knew better though. 

Her head shook again. "You won't convince me." 

He peered over to her suspiciously. "It's only going to be me, Allura and Keith." She ceased her stirring and looked up at Lance, her expression suddenly shifting into vague interest. Lance caught on immediately. When he opened his mouth she quickly went back to glaring down at the bowl, stirring at an even more rapid pace. "I knew it. You and Hunk are ignoring each other. Why the hell? Did you have a fight or something?" 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

Lance's hand twitched against the table. He didn't appreciate being shut down like that. Hunk had done the same when he had woken up after collapsing in the training room and Lance had bitten down his spike of agitation. He always made an attempt to reach out to people, and though it wasn't always necessarily their fault, he despised it when they refused to meet him halfway. He constantly made the effort to reach out, straining all the way over the chasm between them, but often people would just watch him from the other side while he reached for nothing but air. 

"You know what," Lance said lowly, his hand plucking the spoon out of Pidge's. "I've decided I don't care. You're in here twenty-four seven and it's becoming less amusing and more concerning by the minute. I thought you would have been the first to leap into action, but you're the least invested in finding Shiro out of all of us. And what about your brother? Your father? Don't you still want to find them?" 

Pidge's face closed like a door. "Fuck you, Lance." 

 _Oh—kay._ That was unexpected. 

"You don't think I want to find them? You don't think my heart bleeds every time we run into another dead end? I've just grown  _sick_ and tired of failing. Of losing people. I lost half my family, then Shiro turns up one day and it's possible I could find them again. But then we lose _him_ —our family—and suddenly the only hope I had of finding my family is ripped away from me. I'm just  _tired_ of losing things, Lance," she sobbed. She'd started crying in the middle of her monologue, her words gradually becoming broken and hard to understand. "I left my mum all alone back on earth. She has no one. I can never go back to earth until I've found my family, Shiro included." 

Her head hung over the bowl, tears dripping into her glasses causing them to become fogged and Lance slowly reached forwards to pull them off her nose. Pidge didn't stop him. Her entire body seemed to wilt with emotional and physical exhaustion. 

"I'm useless," she said. 

Lance's heart cracked in half and he reached forwards to pull her into his embrace. Her hands flew around his waist and her fingers dug into the rubber under-suit. It kind of hurt, the way she pinched his skin, but he didn't care.

_He never wanted to hear those words from her again._

Because he knew all too well how crushing it was to feel useless, oh boy did he know. He didn't have any words for her but he allowed his body to try and communicate his understanding through the way he stroked her hair away from her face, hoped she could feel his empathy through the rise and fall of his chest against her head, through his heartbeat. Briefly, he thought back to the way Keith had clung to him this way, the way Lance had refused to touch the Red Paladin and the way his heart went stone-cold. Seventeen days ago Lance might have had the words Pidge needed to hear, but now all he could do was swallow thickly against the lump in his throat and hold her. 

"I called Hunk fat," she said. 

Lance's hands froze. "You  _what?_ " 

She sobbed harder into his chest and his stomach churned sickly. "We were arguing over something, I don't even remember what anymore, then suddenly it became really intense and he was calling me obsessed, and I was calling him a coward, he told me to stop obsessing with my family and focus and I just...blew up. I knew it was one of his insecurities, and he'd hurt my feelings—I just wanted him to hurt as much as I did. And now we're both too stubborn to approach each other about it."

"Jesus, Pidge," Lance said, horrified, pulling back to peer at her face, which had moved away from his chest to look up at him. She wouldn't quite meet his eyes. 

"I know," she said, solemnly. Ashamed. 

"So that's why Hunk has been in the training room all this time. Pidge," he said with weight behind it. "He trained himself into passing out, the one thing Shiro warned us not to do. Because it becomes addictive. He's being training like that on purpose, because he knew he'd pass out. Fuck. And you've been in here cooking silently because you feel guilty and useless. God, you're fifteen and fighting an intergalactic war. Of course you'd get stressed like this, start hiding away." Because somehow along the way Lance had forgotten they were all kids, technically, in the grand scope of things. Forgotten that Pidge was even younger than him by two years. 

His hands wrapped around Pidge fiercely, pulling her back into his chest and he felt tears burn the back of his eyes. He understood now. What was happening to his friends, what was happening to Keith.

The thing inside his stomach slithered and hissed, he felt it try and slide up his throat and suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. 

Back on earth his mother and he used to have the worst fights of anyone else in the house, they'd scream and insult each other to the verge of tears and then break away to sob alone in their rooms. When Lance asked his father one day why his mother hated him so much, he'd replied with:

 _"When we're miserable, those we love the most are the first ones we hurt. Often because they're the closest person around at the time, so they're the first to suffer your anger, but also because the stronger the love, the more you both want to hurt each other. We want to see them hurt just as much as you because you don't want to feel alone when you suffer. It's so suffocatingly lonely. So, you hurt the ones you love."_  

_"I don't want to make ma hurt," Lance said quietly. He was thirteen at the time, all awkward angles and long limbs, filled to the brim with insecurities._

_His father had ruffled his hair and pulled him closer on the couch. "And neither does she. But try to remember this, when she hurts you like that, it's really just a cry for help. She doesn't want to be alone. The trick is to learn what to do instead of hurting each other. There's always a way."_

Lance understood. 

_When we're miserable, those we love the most are the first ones we hurt._

* * *

 

Lance and Hunk didn't end up getting a chance to scope out the pool as everyone had declined their offer and a pool party with only the two people seemed a little depressing, so they went their separate ways instead. As they separated, Lance had made a passing comment to Hunk about how strong he was becoming from the training.

"I think even Shiro would struggle to win against you," he'd grinned. Hunk had smiled gratefully back, knowing full-well what Lance was trying to do, but appreciating it nevertheless. Lance hadn't been lying though, he'd always thought Hunk had the capacity to beat Shiro, but now he was certain he finally had the skills as well.  

Lance spent an hour after that in the dining room flicking through an old Altean language guide that he'd found in the hatch under his bed. He'd been more than shocked when the book began talking and decided to almost slaughter him on the spot for pronouncing something wrong and he'd shut the book lightning fast and tossed it across the room. 

 _Alteans,_ Lance thought bitterly. 

When Keith had walked in and instantly started to reach for the book on the floor Lance had screeched, "Don't touch it! It'll try to kill you." 

Keith, half way through picking it up, had dropped it with a thud, backing away from it like a wild animal. 

"Do I want to know what you went through to find that out?" Keith asked, pulling out a chair across from Lance. He looked a little more himself today, his eyes less dull and a little more sparkly. _Glad to know he's feeling better after wiping snot all over me four days ago,_ Lance thought bitterly, chin propped on his hand.

"Think _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, The Monster Book of Monsters_ book that tried to eat Harry at the start." 

"I've never watched  _Harry Potter_ ," Keith deadpanned. 

"I could forgive you for not reading them, but never watching them is a deplorable sin," Lance gasped. This felt ordinary and familiar to him. And on the one hand he wanted to continue it, on the other, looking at Keith still gave Lance chills and made his stomach cramp and he was trying to remain positive these days. It was generally harder when Keith was in the room.   

As the silence swelled around them Lance began to feel suffocated and cramped and Keith was still  _looking_ at him, as if he always had something on the tip of his tongue to say to Lance, but continually held back. His mouth would jolt open like he was about to say it, then slam shut a moment later, and he did this over and over again, leaving him looking like a gasping fish. 

And Lance hated it—made him feel all prickly and nervous, knowing those eyes were on him. 

When Lance's stomach began to scream in pain and he felt a second away from suffocating, he broke the silence like snapping a wire. "Whatever you've been trying to say, just say it now. Stop staring at me with that stupid fish-face of yours." The wire snapped with so much force it blinded Lance for a second. 

Keith's words surged out of him; a dam bursting open. "I never meant to hurt you like that. I never meant to make you feel like I was using you for my own amusement. I never meant any of the things I said to you. I never meant to force you to look into my eyes and see reflections of your past traumas. I never wanted to hurt you. I never saw it through your eyes until you blew up at me the other day, and I know I deserved it. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I don't want you to hate me. This team is falling apart and I'm supposed to be the one that keeps it together, but by being ignorant of your feelings I've only made it worse." 

Keith's head was bowed over the table, so Lance couldn't read his eyes. Lance couldn't believe him if Keith didn't  _look_ at him. He needed to see the apology in his eyes.  

"Keith, look at me," he commanded. Keith obeyed, slowly raising his head to meet Lance's gaze. "Now say that all over again and look me in the eyes this time." 

Keith's eyebrows pinched together—annoyance. That was the first sign.

He did as Lance asked, his eyes locked onto Lance's the entire time, reciting everything he'd just said exactly like before. His voice sounded convincing and Lance did believe there was some semblance of truth behind his words. But everything he said sounded too perfect for Keith. The Red Paladin was absolute trash when it came to words and Lance knew he could never come up with something so eloquent, but he did know who could. It was rehearsed, practiced and he shifted in his seat constantly—impatience. He wanted to get this over with. Lance could picture Keith pacing outside the dining room door, practicing and perfecting it before charging in. 

Once he was finished, Keith's shoulders drooped like he'd finally freed himself from some invisible weight, Lance though, only felt it grow heavier. His stomach slithered at the relieved look on his face. 

Lance wanted to shout and scream at Keith, wanted to throw something hard and pointy at him for being such a cheap coward. Instead, he rose slowly from his seat and leaned over the table with a slow grin, like he was  _so_ thankful for the half assed piece of shit apology. 

"Tell Hunk I say thank you for the beautiful apology," he said lowly in his throat, practically a hiss. 

When Lance walked out of the room, leaving a both furious and devastated Keith behind him, he added, "Next time try not to memorise a speech inside your head. I'm not a High School teacher, you can't just spew out a _Wikipedia_  page to me and expect me to give you full credits. I'll forgive you when you figure it out on your own. No copying and pasting." 

Lance was absolutely pissed as he slammed the door behind him, feeling the entire castle shutter in his wake. 

* * *

He wasn't any less pissed ten minutes later,

"Really, Hunk?" Lance seethed as he entered the training room. He had no sympathy for the for the exhausted look on the Yellow Paladin's face, didn't care for the fact he was going to make himself feel sick just as they sat down for dinner; he was too fucking furious at him for that. "You gave Keith some shitty script to say and expected me not to be able to tell it was yours? It's Keith! He doesn't have a single eloquent bone in his body!" 

Hunk pulled himself up off the ground from his push ups and levelled Lance with a glare. "What did you expect me to do, Lance? This team is falling apart. If it took Keith reading a scripted apology out to get you two on equal terms again then, fuck, of course I was going to do it." 

Hunk was swearing. Clearly Lance had caught him in a bad mood.  _Perfect._ He'd feel less guilty tearing him a new hole. 

"Did you really think I'd be that vain?" Lance demanded, his fists clenched at his sides and his body vibrating with so much energy his vision was swimming. 

"I hoped, yes. I'll admit, Lance, I hoped you'd fall for it so we could finally be a team again. I thought perhaps you'd be stupid enough to fall for it. Like usual." 

His words hit Lance like a slap in the face and he reeled back as he felt the breath get knocked out of him. His stomach was coiling in so tightly he began to grip it with both his hands as if he could hold it all together. His throat became clogged and a strange noise came out of his mouth. 

_No._

He wasn't going to let Hunk get away with that. Lance refused to leave this room as the only one hurting. 

"Pidge was right," he began, and saw Hunk's face drop, going pale. "You are a coward, too afraid to tackle the problem like a _Paladin_ would. You'd rather just put a band aid over a gaping wound and pray it all works out so you can pat yourself on the back and tell yourself it was a job well done. Like you actually did anything. You're a coward who doesn't want to get his hands dirty. Too bad, this is a war. If you hadn't noticed we've already killed hundreds. Galra, maybe, yeah, but I can bet you my life that there were as many innocents caught in the crossfire as there were perpetrators. You're no better than the rest of us. We're  _all_ monsters. You're not special." 

Lance was heaving for breath by the end of it. Great, heavy, lurching breaths and he felt his vision crackle. After squeezing out every word of rage he could, every single word that he knew would hit Hunk like a bullet, he felt absolutely hollowed out, felt light enough to simply float away. Like there was nothing left of him except his skin. He'd thrown everything he was into those words, every twisted part of himself, which had, horrifyingly, left nothing inside him. As if there had been none of the original Lance left to begin with.  

He couldn't even bring himself to feel sorrow or guilt when Hunk's face collapsed into complete agony and betrayal. He imagined every sick part of him that escaped with his words floating around the room in thousands of little pieces. He felt...free. Vaguely he could see a smudge of red and green to the left of him, and heard footsteps approaching him from behind.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder he reacted automatically, pulling himself away and spinning to  _shove_ the offender away, hard. He sent them to the ground with a solid thud and heard a series of gasps around him—felt the air still.

As he looked down at the pink and white smudge on the floor, his vision slowly began to clear to reveal Princess Allura sprawled out in front of him, her brown face pale and eyes wide. His gut was roaring now and his ears started to ring. He stared down at Allura, feeling his face crack and break with overwhelming horror.

_He'd touched the Princess. He'd shoved her to the floor._

He saw Coran running up behind her, crouching down to help her to her feet. When the older man's face rose to meet Lance's, his eyes burned something fierce. "How dare you hurt the Princess?" His voice scared Lance. 

"Don't call me that," Allura whimpered, her head hanging towards the floor. "I don't deserve it, not when I can't even keep my family together." Jesus, she'd begun to cry. Coran looked to her with every bit as much worry as a father. 

"Lance?" _Was that Pidge?_ "What have you done?"

Lance couldn't answer the question if he tried. But, stupid as usual, he tried anyway. 

"I—" 

It hurt to speak.

"Well?" Pidge prompted again, her tone turning harsh. Briefly Lance was glad to hear the sudden fire inside her again. Not for long though.

"I don't—"

_Why couldn't he speak?_

"Why would you say those things to Hunk? He was only trying to help." This was Keith, clearly furious, but restrained, as if he was still treading carefully after their last encounter. 

A broken noise cracked out of his dry mouth. "Allura—I..." 

_What had he done?_

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

He really was a monster. The thing inside his gut had finally reared its ugly head and sunk its teeth into everyone around him. He'd hurt them all. 

He heard his father's voice in his head:  _You_ _hurt the ones you love._

_The ones we love the most are the first to suffer._

Lance saw it now—saw it all, in its vast and awful glory. It wasn't loss that turned him into this terrible, horrible, twisted thing that he had become, it was love. 

The coil inside his stomach finally, after seventeen long days, loosened. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're alive bc I'm not lol rip me. 
> 
> The characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Harry Potter says he wants his Monster Book of Monsters back. And Wikipedia is suing Keith: they want their apology back. 
> 
> btw you should follow me on twitter @aBluePaladin
> 
> As always, let me know if you find mistakes.
> 
> xoxox


	6. Day Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of last chapter happens. Plus a surprise space Skype call.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Twitter @aBluePaladin xx

Lance laid curled into a tight ball facing the wall in his bed that night. The room was pitch black and he felt the darkness breathing down his exposed nape as he shut his eyes tightly, screwing together forcefully. He'd been trying to sleep for hours now.

Lance noticed it was exceptionally difficult to sleep when his mind was racing at a million miles an hour. 

The night—had not ended well, to put it kindly. Voltron, he though with panic, might never ever ever _ever_  recoverfrom this complete and utter catastrophe. Lance had surely guaranteed that after the stunt he'd pulled before. After ten minutes of Keith, Pidge and Coran demanding Lance explain himself, whereby Lance couldn't even get a single word out of his paper-dry mouth, Allura had somehow eventually commanded them all to be quiet and leave the room immediately. Her voice had wobbled and she was still clutching onto Coran with both her hands, but an order from the Princess was an _order_ , and everyone respected it, period. They all left. 

Pidge had given Lance a passing look of confused betrayal, like she didn't even recognise who he was anymore. Lance didn't have the will to blame her. Keith and Hunk had both expertly avoided eye contact with him as they passed, both had their fists clenched tightly by their sides. Coran was reluctant to leave Allura's side, his hands still lingering on her elbows for a moment when he finally pulled away from her, a passing look of despair directed at Lance just before he turned around and left. 

Lance and Allura were alone. 

Allura's multicoloured eyes searched Lance's as he continued to stare at nothing. He felt a second away from floating into the air with how weightless he felt. 

Instead of floating away, however, he collapsed to his knees with a painful thunk against the ground. He heard Allura draw in a breath from above him. From this new height he was eye level with her legs and belatedly realised they were walking this way. He wanted to run away, but his body was rooted to the ground, like a balloon attached to a weight—pinned. When Allura's legs stopped a couple of feet in front he jolted as he felt a hesitant hand under his chin, pulling his face up to meet her eyes.

A haggard sob broke free from deep within his chest when he saw that instead of anger in her eyes, there was tenderness. He knew it was selfish of him to feel relieved by that, but Lance was beyond the point of caring. His pride had escaped him when he spewed out all those atrocious words to Hunk and was now floating above him amongst all the scattered remains of himself he'd abandoned. 

"Lance," Allura said, crouching down to be eye level with him. His eyes greedily tracked the kindness on her face all the way down. Both her hands came up to cup his cheeks, warm and smooth, and he resisted the urge to nuzzle into them like he did with his mother. They were still on shaky terms here and Lance figured he shouldn't freak her out with  _that. "Lance,"_ she repeated, softly, coaxing him out. "What's going on with you? With  _all_ of you." 

His tears trickled down from his eyes onto his cheeks and over her hands to splatter on the ground between them. His words once again betrayed him as they became stuck in his throat and he felt as though he were physically choking and let out a pained noise, felt it scorch his throat and burn his lungs. He kept looking into her eyes like they were the only thing keeping him afloat in the universe. 

His entire body felt fuzzy, as though it were made out of the static on those old school televisions his family used to own. The floor under his limp hands felt like it was giving way to him. 

He felt a tickle at the front of his mind. 

 _Blue?_ he thought. 

 _No, Allura,_ came another voice, and his eyes widened as a small smile played at Allura's mouth.  _Is this easier for you?_

_H—how? I don't understand, Blue can't even communicate with words this way. How are you doing this?_

_Blue and I have been talking, so to speak,_ Allura said calmly into his mind.  _We needed to figure out who could pilot the Blue Lion in your absence so I took it upon myself to see if she would open up to me. I was curious. She hasn't yet. She said there was something I needed to do first before she'd allow me in. But she did give me this instead,_ she said, tapping her temple and cocking her head to the side, her short hair falling over her face. 

 _She gave you this ability?_ Lance asked, bewildered. 

_Actually, she gave it to us both. She has been worried for you, I could feel it and I think this ability is her way of telling me what I need to fix._

_Me?_ Lance asked, his head bowing a fraction in her hands. 

She shook her head and slowly, giving Lance the opportunity to pull away if he needed to, embraced him.  _There is nothing wrong with you, Lance._

 _I hurt you,_  he countered, falling into her touch even so. 

 _I was kidnapped by the Galra and electrocuted with magic by the Druid witch, you shoving me to the ground is nothing._ His face was buried in her neck and he could smell the sweet floral scent she always gave off.  _Lance, I'm fine. I'm not mad at you. But we do need to fix this gaping rift between everyone otherwise we will be destroyed. I don't want you to let this get you down, I want it to serve as a reminder that you're only human, with weaknesses, but you're also a Paladin, with great strengths. Blue chose you because you have the ability to adapt to any situation, I'm asking you to do that for me now._

Lancenodded his head into her neck, his tears still burning hot lines down his face but all he could think was _she doesn't hate me_. He'd spent so long these past seventeen days meeting wall after wall his teammates threw up against him, had felt it bruising as he kept trying to break through, yet continued to throw himself against it nevertheless, and now finally someone was opening a door for him _—_ reaching over from the other side of the chasm. 

By the time Lance finally fell asleep that night the phone he'd 'borrowed' from Pidge (don't tell her he had it, she'd been looking for it for weeks ) read 5:17am and his body felt utterly exhausted, emptied out. But after that encounter with Allura he felt a little, tiny piece of himself click back in place.

* * *

He dreamt about Keith.

In the dream, Keith was sitting on top of him, his weight heavy on his stomach and pressing Lance into the ground below him. Keith had Lance's hands under his, very dark against his pale skin, and they were against his face; Lance could feel the heat of him under his skin. Feel the rush of Keith's life just beneath the surface. He couldn't see Keith's eyes.

Without warning, Keith's hands tightened over Lance's, pressing his fingertips harshly into his skin, just below his eyes. Lance, panicked, tried to pull his hands away, but Keith was stronger and he could only watch as he forced Lance's fingers to gauge into his pale skin, cutting him open with his nails. Lance was kicking and bucking, trying to dislodge Keith from him, but to no avail. Keith forced his fingers in even deeper and Lance cried out when he saw blood begin to spill from the terrible wounds, felt it fall burning hot onto his face, in his mouth. Keith, all the while, remained silent. 

But Lance screamed and screamed, as he was slowly forced to tear his friend's face apart. 

* * *

The sound of alarms blaring had Lance springing upright in bed only an hour later, his head cracking against the overhang with painful force. He collapsed back down and used his pillow as a muffler when he screamed with pain and irritation. 

That fiasco over, he ripped himself out from under the covers and set himself on pulling on his Paladin gear. He did so swiftly, weeks of awful morning drills having conditioned him into expertly cutting down the time it took for him to change. These had often involved Lance pulling on the bottom of his under-suit whilst simultaneously slamming on his helmet. It took many trials and errors for him to remember every item and he'd often race out onto the control deck missing his chest plate or his belt.  

None of that was the case this time and he was racing to the bridge as fast as his exhausted body could take him. On the way, he'd crossed paths with Keith and they'd both slowed for a moment in panic, but, decisively, decided to put aside their differences for the moment with a nod and focus on the situation. 

And—the situation was  _bad._

A literal page out of Allura's worst case scenario speech she'd made a few days ago.  

Allura was at her place in the centre of the room, and Lance was surprised to see her in a pink version of their Paladin suits instead of her usual flight suit. He and Keith were the first ones there (besides Kolivan of course, because when wasn't that guy prepared for the end of the universe?), Pidge and Hunk close on their tails. Lance thought he noticed Slav hiding in the corner of the room somewhere, most likely calculating up the infinite possible ways for them to die.

In front of them was a Galra battle cruiser and with a gulp of dread he saw that it had a dozen anchors attached to castle, rendering them incapable of moving without risking tearing out huge gashes of the ship. Lance's hands shook badly as he sat down in his Paladin seat. He heard Keith growl in front of him as he did the same. This Glara cruiser was differnt to the others they had faced before, it was bigger, deadlier looking, with sharp lines of orange and purple decorating the outside. 

"That isn't one of Zarkon's Commanders," Allura gulped, her eyes stricken and Lance felt his stomach roll at the dark circles under her eyes. None of them were ready for this. 

"No," agreed Kolivan, sounding defeated. "That's Prince Lotor." 

"How'd he find us so quickly?" Pidge exploded, her voice was wobbly and panicked, unlike her usually analytical tone. She was still tense after all that had happened. They all were; Lance could feel the tremble of the air around them. "The data Keith and I collected yesterday said he was still searching for us several galaxies away. There's no way." 

"Maybe they tracked your lion back to us?" Hunk interjected, his voice short and clipped. Lance's heart fell to the floor. 

_Hunk. Oh, god, Hunk. What have I done to you?_

He felt a tickle in his mind.  _Don't focus on that now, Lance,_ Allura cut in and he steeled himself instead, following her lead. 

"There's no way they could have been tracking us. The castle is automatically programmed now to scan for trackers on every incoming aircraft, including your lions." 

"Then, how?" Lance contributed, quietly, flinching at the way all the other Paladins' gazes shot to him. Like he'd combusted into flames or grew a dick on his head or something. He shrunk back into his seat. 

"Allura," Coran said from his place below her. Lance noticed he was avoiding her title now. "The ship, it's hailing us." 

Everyone stilled, then turned their heads to Allura, expectant. 

However, shockingly, Allura looked over to Keith, her eyes narrowing in on the Red Paladin. "As the Black Paladin, I believe this decision should be yours, Keith." If things weren't the way the are, if Lance wasn't this new and awful creature, then he would have 'ohhhhhhhhed' out loud, would have smirked as Keith glared at him and Hunk gave him an air fist-pump. Things weren't like that now. 

Lance couldn't see Keith's face, but he could guess what it looked like. He could picture his eyes hardening like crystal and his mouth setting itself into a thin line—he could picture it as clearly as he could picture the crisp and sparkly waters of Varadero beach, it was ingrained into him. 

He saw Keith's head drop with the weight of his impending decision; then straightening as it was made. And Lance knew exactly which choice he'd made. 

"Open a frequency," he told Allura and she nodded.

A beautiful face flashed onto the screen in front of them and Lance had to hold back a gasp. Long silvery hair, a strong jaw and angular face, narrow eyes and purple skin.  _And no fur._ _Thank God,_ Lance thought.

And then:  _I'm definitely gay._

 _But Allura,_  another part of him whined. 

 _Not now, straight thoughts,_  he scolded. 

"Princess Allura," the beautiful face on the screen taunted. "Your reputation precedes you."  

"I'd say the same for you, however, I didn't know you existed until a few days ago." At this point Hunk would have called out 'BURN', but the Yellow Paladin remained silent in his seat. Lance glanced nervously over to him, wishing his friend would meet his gaze, but Hunk was staring at the screen, his face dead serious. 

If Lotor was offended, he didn't show it. He only shrugged, his grin sliding further up to the left, baring a set of pointed canines. Lance felt his stomach clench as he received a sudden and stark reminder of what exactly Lotor was. _Aaand g_ _oodbye, gay thoughts._

"How cruel of you, Princess," Lotor chuckled, then cocked his head to the side, silver hair slipping across his face, deceivingly lovely. "I'll keep this short. You have something that belongs to me. All I ask is that you return it and I shall leave you in peace. I'll release the anchors so they don't tear life threatening holes in your adorable ship."  

"We have nothing of yours." Keith's voice was low and dangerous as he leaned forwards in his seat. 

The Galra Prince's yellow and purple eyes swooped lazily to Keith and Lance watched with dread as they widened with sick joy; as though he'd found exactly what he was looking for. Keith. Lance thought back to what Kolivan had said before. _'_ _His ranks consist mostly of rejected half breeds.'_

"Oh, but you do, little halfbreed." Then: "Your mother desperately wants to meet you again by the way—face to face this time." 

Lance could hear this blood thrum through his veins as his heart picked up its pace. 

Keith's tone wilted, going hoarse. Lance wanted to smack him over the head for allowing the Prince Asshole to get the better of him. "My mother? But— _when?_ " 

Hunk's voice cut in, "The Weblum! That Glara dude!" 

"Now, Glara chick," Pidge added. Though Hunk wasn't amused and Pidge fell back into her seat at her failed attempt. 

"You can meet her again, if you'd like," Lotor goaded Keith. "And of course I'll compensate for your loss to your dear friends." There was a shuffling noise somewhere off screen and then the image flickered to something else. Something that tore a gasp out of Keith.

And a wretched cry from Kolivan. 

_"Thace?"_

_Shit._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna have to keep upping the rating of this bc it keeps getting darker. 
> 
> The characters/story belong to Dreamworks. 
> 
> xxxx


	7. Day Eighteen: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance come to an agreement. It's going to be unpleasant.
> 
> Yo it's Lance's birthday over here now! In celebration I give you this.

_'Thace?'_

Kolivan shot forward from the wall he was leaning on so he was in front of Allura, the scar on his right side stretched and strained as his eyes widened with complete, unfiltered shock. It was the first-time Lance had ever seen him looking anything other than grave. 

On the screen were two drones holding a limp Galra between them. Lance could only assume it was Thace by the way Kolivan was staring at him like he was seeing a ghost, and by how battered and bloody his body was, remaining absolutely lifeless in their grasp—unmoving. Lance assumed Lotor didn't just beat up any his Galra comrades, but then again, he knew nothing about the guy other than he was super hot (ugly). Rather impolite, Lance wondered why Lotor would think they'd want a dead Galra back. But then, as Thace's bruised chest rose and fell, he realised that somehow, miraculously, against all odds, he was still alive. He was so utterly battered, however, that Lance was certain that he was moments away from death.

They had disarmingly little time if they were going to have chance of rescuing him. 

Because of course they would save him, they were _Voltron_. It was their job. If anything was going to force them to start working together again, it was a rescue mission. However, it was a dangerously fragile position to put Thace in, whose life was literally depending on whether the Paladins could get their shit together, and quickly. But, somehow, if the four— _five_ —of them could start working together like a unit, Lance thought it might work. They just had to stay calm. 

Keith, apparently, had other ideas, as he leapt out of his seat and said, "I'm going."

"Umm," Lance began, rising up along with Keith, intercepting his path out of the room and pressing his fingers into his chest to halt him. "I think the fuck not." 

Keith's eyes were on fire, terrible and dark like the depths of hell. His lithe form was leaning into Lance's fingers, straining with barely concealed rage. Lance felt it ricochet up through his fingers and into his own body. Felt like every bit of them was connected just through that single point of contact alone. 

"Thace sacrificed himself for me before, I won't let him die now." Keith pressed further forwards, but Lance held steady. He knew Keith could dislodge him at any point so it struck Lance that he wasn't forcing himself through. Keith was waiting for him, waiting to see what Lance had to say; like he expected Lance to talk him out of it. 

Around them, the others were all watching in silence, their faces drawn and pale, even Lotor, who was back on the screen, though his face was ripe and gleaming. Everyone except for Hunk, that was, who was starring daggers down at the ground, like was he was trying hard to ignore the fact that Lance was even there. He felt a pang shoot through his chest, but turned his attention back to Keith, who was still staring at Lance expectantly, waiting for him to do something. 

"How noble," Lotor cooed from the screen. 

Ignoring him, Lance carefully said, "I know. And trust me, we won't. But there is a better way to do this." 

"I would hurry if I were you, little half-breed, your dear friend isn't looking so good," Lotor commented. Kolivan let out a guttural growl, his teeth snapping. 

Keith's body curled inwards, like he was about to erupt. "I know you're right—" 

Lance felt the silent 'but' through the way Keith pressed forwards again, their faces a few inches away now; he saw Keith's hair was becoming damp with sweat, saw a bead clinging to the end of his nose. Before Keith could continue with his 'but', Lance intervened. His voice wasn't kind, but brutally honest. Keith wanted Lance to be gentle with him, he knew, and coax him into a different path, but that's not what he  _needed—_ he needed to be dictated, like Shiro would. Lance needed to be Shiro. 

How depressing that they had sunk this low, to rely on him. 

"You're the Black Paladin. You can't go running off on some pitiful sacrifice because  _you_ feel like you owe Thace your life. It leaves the rest of us vulnerable. That's the Red Paladin's job, to act out. Therefore, that means it's my job now, not yours." 

"Don't be an idiot, Lance," Pidge interjected. 

Lance rolled his eyes. "As if, because I'm going to be a much  _better_ Red Paladin than his bastard." He jabbed Keith in the chest to prove his point. 

"As beautifully inspiring this has all been, I'm growing tired of watching you all cry and fall over for each other and my anchors are minutes away from tearing holes inside your ship," Lotor interrupted from the screen. Lance thought quickly.

 _Shitshitshitshit._ He needed to stall for time somehow. 

Then: the spark of an idea. 

"Shove me out of the way and say something about finding a new Black Paladin and walk out the door," he whispered frantically under his breath, ducking a little closer so the Prince wouldn't see his mouth move. Keith's eyebrows creased with confusion. " _Just do it_ ," Lance hissed viciously.

It took a moment, whereby Keith's face slowly transformed into one of understanding (Lance was grateful that his face wasn't the one facing Lotor as Keith's face was like a fucking open book) but eventually he got it. Rather painfully, Lance thought with slight regret, Keith shoved him to the ground, throwing him to the side and repeating what Lance had told him before rushing away. The others were calling out for Keith and Lotor's face lit up like a kid a Christmas time, overjoyed to have gotten exactly what he wanted.

Good. Let him gloat. Lance had the time he needed now.

Despairingly, Lance noticed no one came to his aid like they would have two days ago but only pushed himself to his feet and immediately started after Keith, as though he were trying to stop him. Inside his head, he felt Allura reach for him. 

 _Please tell me this is a plan of yours_ , she fretted as Lance raced down the corridor and turned left at the next intersection, the way he'd seen Keith go.

_Keep Prince Sexy occupied, act all Princessy and despairing._

_I find that offensive. But you can count on me._ Lance felt her drift out and slowed to a walk as he saw Keith leaning against one of the walls, his arms crossed and his face looking like he wanted to start a fight with the wall opposite him. Lance had no doubt he'd try if given the chance. When he noticed Lance making his way to him, he turned his body towards him, still leaning on the wall with his hip and shoulder. 

"I hope you have a plan." 

"I have a percentage of one," Lance shrugged, careless and loose, like he wasn't wound up so tight he thought might crack. 

Keith scoffed, looking disgruntled and strained, and pulled off his helmet. His sweaty hair fell flat against his forehead. "I'm filled with confidence," he said bitterly, but it was so reminiscent of their time working together on the Balmera that Lance fought back a grin.

Lance hated having to dampen the mood, but he had to ensure Keith understood him. "Look, unless you want to charge in there with nothing but your guilt and anger driving you, you're just going to have to trust me. Despite, you know, this whirling shit-hole of a mess the team is in." 

Keith looked close to disagreeing, Lance could see it in the twitchiness of his hands as they moved to push his hair back from his face, but he only nodded, eyes focussed. 

"Okay then," Lance said. "This is what I have in mind." 

* * *

Keith and Lance stood in the landing bay with their hearts in their throats as the Glara pod touched down, slick and deadly looking. The shape vaguely reminded Lance of a wasp.  

"You're not coming," Keith suddenly said. And Lance just about slapped him in the face because _WTF, did that idiot just ignore everything I told him?_

"I don't think you really get much of a choice," Lance replied instead, watching tensely as a door opened and a ramp dropped down.

Keith made a clicking noise with his tongue, eyes slicing over to Lance. "Be real about this, Lance. I know you don't want to go."

"Oh, and I thought you were just ecstatic to run headlong into a Galra battleship. Your face was swimming with joy, all screwed up and spewing angsty rage."

"I'm serious," Kieth growled.

"And so am I," Lance countered. "Look I'm sorry that you're stuck with me as your only backup, but I'm all you've got."

"That's not—"

Lance never found out what it wasn't because a Galra solider stepped out from the pod and made their way over. With a rush of pleasant surprise, he realised this Commander was a woman, a large, frightening woman with huge ears like a bat's, but still a woman. Lance could work with that. She loomed over them with at least three feet between her chin and the tops of their heads. Her yellow eyes narrowed in on Lance and he bit back a grimace. 

"We are only here for the red one," her voice was low and guttural. 

"The  _black_ one, I think you mean," Lance corrected her, regretting it the moment her eyes thinned into slits. This stomach rolled sickly.  

Keith cleared his throat, and Lance almost laughed at the sound of him sounding so  _polite_ as he spoke. It was like hearing a lion squeak like a mouse. "You won't persuade him." Lance didn't even know Keith knew words like 'persuade'. "Where ever I go, he goes." 

"It's a Red and Blue Paladin thing. Fire and ice? You follow me?" Lance added frantically, hands waving innocently in front of him and a cheesy grin on his face.

The Commander's eyes scanned between the two of them, slow and calculating. Lance sincerely hope this worked, prayed to every kind of God out there that he wasn't about to be pummelled to the ground like a Whack-A-Mole. 

"I follow," she said, looking _sympathetic?_  Lance's breath left him in a relieved rush. "Galra who spend more than a week away from their lover often start to go mad. You may come, if only to keep him sated." 

The air around Lance and Keith spiked rapidly in temperature. _Ummfuckingwhat?_ What the hecking heck? Lance felt his cheeks begin to fill with hot blood but as soon as he saw Keith's mouth open to automatically dispute this, eyes furious and offended (Lance offended at his offence), he spoke up, fastening his hand securely around Keith's wrist. 

"Guilty as charged," he said with a grin, holding up his other hand in mock surrender. 

The Commander's eyes roved over Lance's form, slowly taking in every inch of him with lazy eyes. Her mouth twisted to the side like she'd eaten something sour. "Your mother will be displeased you chose someone so scrawny, little half-breed." 

_That fucking bi—_

* * *

They were escorted into the back of the pod by another Galra woman. Lance had cringed when he saw her featureless face and the ugly space-cat on her shoulder, but followed her as she gestured for them to sit down. The larger woman had tailed them in while the other disappeared into the pilot's seat, Lance assumed. 

"You will need to remove your armour, Paladin's," she instructed. "And hand over any weapons."

Lance gestured to himself openly. "Does it look like I can hide any weapons in this skin tight thing?" he asked, all innocent-like.

Her eyes remained stone cold, unimpressed. _Why were girls always so unimpressed with him?_   he thought sourly. "I'm no idiot, Blue Paladin. Hand over your bayards. I know they materialise out of nothing. If you refuse you'll receive the weight of my hand upon your fragile human flesh."

Lance had no doubt she meant it.

They gave up their bayards.

"Strip," she instructed. "You may leave your under-suit on, but all armour must be removed and handed over." They did as she asked, slowly, Lance feeling a heavy ball inside his stomach as he began to gingerly take off his armour, beginning with his helmet and gradually working his way down to the armour on his legs and feet. Self-consciousness rose up in his throat like bile and he felt his chest squeeze with anxiety. He'd never been around anyone in just his under-suit, it was skin tight and revealed every dip and curve, including the small pudgy belly of his that was usually well hidden by his belt.   

Lance was aware that his body was generally an agreeable one, and knew that there would be many people out there that wished they had it. However, it didn't matter how lovely your body was, you'd still find something about it that made you want to curl away and hide it from the rest of the world. Galra Commanders included.  _Keith_ included. 

Lance recalled the sick feeling in his stomach that time Keith had intercepted him on his way to check out the (stupid Altean pool). As they'd awkwardly stood there in silence his eyes had wandered to Keith's exposed body, greedily taking in the pale bareness of him and realising how much more in shape he was than Lance. Oh, he was by no means packing, but there was definition there that Lance ached over, the suggestion of muscles that would gradually become increasingly pronounced. A light sketch on paper before all the details were added. He'd wanted to put his hands over his own stomach in humiliation, but held back for fear of drawing attention to it. 

He knew that if anyone else were to look, they'd see nothing, it was a very little roll of pudge, but it didn't stop him from turning around and facing the corner as he finished taking off his armour. 

He shivered, the air cool on his bared form. He felt increasingly sick, especially as the pod began to shift off the ground. To distract himself—today was honestly just distraction after distraction to deflect from yesterday's disaster—he reached out to Allura with his mind. He had yet to be the one to make first contact, so he panicked when Allura didn't respond to him internally calling out her name. But eventually she answered with, _Are you both on board, Lance?_

Lance looked over his shoulder and saw the long line of Keith's spine bent over as he removed his boots. His eyes traced the shape of the delicate bones all the way down and up again, seeing the muscles move and stretch underneath the material—searching. 

_I am._

_Stay safe, Paladin, and keep me updated. We will be ready._

_Right._ He clicked out. 

"Technically you're not prisoners here since this is a willing exchange, so I can't handcuff you like I usually would. So, I'm going to trust you both to behave," the Commander said, picking up their gear and locking it away. "I'm already sick of looking at your ugly human faces so I'm going to sit in the cockpit, and if you decide to do anything stupid," She lifted up her massive clawed hand, sharp points gleaming wickedly. Thoughts about his dream about Keith resurfaced and Lance felt a full body tremor go through him. "I'll ensure you regret it." She left them alone. 

Lance collapsed back into one of the seats lining the edge of the small cabin, curling his arms and legs tightly into himself, trying to keep himself together. But it was so incredibly difficult when he felt like his body was about to quake apart. His breath came in and out of him in shuddering pants. He felt a warmth sit down beside him on the right. 

"Lance," Keith said. "I told you to stay back. But you still decided to come. You can't break down like this now." His voice wasn't gentle, then again nothing about Keith was gentle, but it was strong. Keith was in his element here, running headlong into a situation, weaponless, blind and fearless. Lance didn't do that though, he fought from afar, picking his enemies off one by one, strategically, always two steps ahead. Always with the room and time to think about what he was doing. He'd been lying when he'd said being the idiot who ran on instinct was his job now—he didn't believe for one instant that Red would ever accept Lance as her Paladin. He was nothing like Keith. 

He couldn't do this. 

He had to do this. 

Lance couldn't even be sure that his teammates would go along with his plan, wasn't sure they'd trust him enough. And it hurt so much. 

"Shiro said we're stronger together," Lance said between shallow breaths, his hands clutching at his elbows. "Whether it is all of us at once or even just two of us, we're always stronger. I'm just trying to think like he would."

Keith was quiet next to him for a long time, nothing but the hum of the pod's engine filling the silence between them.

"Well, you're doing that better than I am," he eventually said with a bitter laugh, falling back into his seat. Lance could feel the heat of their shoulders pressed up together.

He looked over to Keith, scrunching his face up at the gaunt look on the Red Paladin's face, his cheekbones had deep shadows under them and his eyes looked like they were caving in on themselves. Lance swallowed against his dry throat. "He was...whatever he was to you. You were closer to him than anyone else here. If you're a little fucked up and confused after he disappears, it's understandable."  

"Maybe," Keith's eyes slid to Lance, half lidded under the purple glow of the lights around them. They looked entirely black—demonic, otherworldly. Lance fought back his unease. "But I had no right to treat you the way I did. I was fucking terrible person." 

Lance's eyes fell to the floor and he said, softly, "Yes, you were, and if I'm honest I don't think I'll be over it for a long while. I hate it when people use me. They did that back at the Garrison, a group of assholes who spent their days just trying to get a rise out of me, because they thought it was  _funny._ We may fight and bicker, Keith, but we  _don't_ try and raise demons out of each other because we're lonely." Lance's voice came out low and hoarse. "You may have potentially destroyed my friendship with Hunk just because you miss _your_ friend. I've never felt more alone, and that's on you."

"Lance, you didn't mean those things you said." 

"But I did," Lance burned out, the awful realness of it all rising up before him, what the terrible things he'd said had now done. Not just to Hunk, but to them all. "Not completely, yeah, but to an extent I meant it all. And so did he. It's the things we think but never say. And for good reason."

Keith nodded, his eyes slipping shut, his face pained. 

"Apart from Allura, I don't think anyone on the team trusts me anymore. Because you forced out that thing inside me. I don't even know if I can trust them to back me up if I get into trouble today, so I'll be counting on _you_ to channel whatever you've learned from Shiro and back me up if something goes wrong. If we make it out of this alive and successful, then I'll forgive you. After all, your actions have always spoken louder than words, right?"

Lance felt a warm hand on his arm, right over top of the bruise he'd left behind twelve days ago. Unlike twelve days ago, his grip was soft, gentle, but with a firmness to it that suggested Keith was answering him, reassuring him—that he'd be there. Even through the material of the suit, Lance felt a crackle of energy run through them like a live wire.

When the pod shifted, thunked, and then began powering down, Lance knew that they had arrived and instantly felt himself begin to shiver again, apparently having ceased while he and Keith spoke. On his right, he felt Keith curl a little closer to him and his hand tightened a fraction on his arm. His eyes stared at the pod's door as if he'd burn anyone who walked through. When the door lowered open a large sweeping figure in a _cape_ sauntered in, all fluttery and dramatic. Well, if Lance were the Prince of an entire empire he supposed he'd do the same. 

"Ahh, young love. How charming," Prince Lotor cooed from the door, his long silvery hair cascading over his shoulders, purple and yellow eyes glittering with a leering pleasure. "I can't wait to break it."  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Note: Lotor is a feminist. Rock on. 
> 
> Guys I've literally abandoned the book I'm supposed to be writing for almost a week now for this, so I hope it's worth it. 
> 
> @aBluePaladin on Twitter for an online diary of me crawling through life or @sidney.jean on instagram for a more photogenic version of my life. Ur choice. 
> 
> Tired af right now.


	8. Day Eighteen: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor has an interesting but unthinkable offer for Keith and Lance and Thace is Jeff from The Wiggles.

Lance and Keith were put in a jail cell, despite being told they weren't prisoners. Of course Lance knew better, but  _come on,_ the last eighteen days had been prison-like enough already. When the tall Galra Commander had activated the energy bars behind them, she'd said, with a smirk, "I said I can't shackle you; I never said anything about not putting you both behind bars. Besides, just think of it as your average room. You have a place to sleep, eat and shit. The only difference is I have the only key." 

"I think generally people tend to call that a prison cell," Keith muttered, leaning his slim form dejectedly against the far wall, glaring at the Commander.

"Also I'm pretty sure the electric gate was activated by your handprint, not a key," Lance added.

She waved a hand. "Technicalities. Oh, say hi to your friend, little half-breed." 

As she left, a slumped form in the cell across from them revealed itself. He was sitting back limply against the wall, blood splattered all over him, dry in some places, and fresh in others, suggesting he was facing beatings semi regularly. Lance's stomach twisted. He hoped that Lotor's crew didn't intend to do the same to Keith and himself. Feeling uneasy on his feet, Lance instead positioned himself on the bed, it was thin and he could feel the springs digging into his ass, but his head was feeling lighter than air. He needed to lie down.

 _Allura?_ he called silently. 

Her answer was swift and Lance felt the pull of her on the other side as they snapped together like two magnets.  _Lance, where are you now? Lotor has yet to disconnect his anchors so we are unable to move. Have you located Thace?_

He nodded, but stupidly realised she couldn't see him.  _We've found him. We're in a jail cell or something, he's in the one across from us. He...he's not looking good, Allura. I don't think they're going to make the exchange either._

_But you expected that, didn't you?_

_Yes._

There was a pause. 

 _Lotor is hailing us again,_ she said.  _I must go. Be safe, both of you._

Quickly, before Allura could disappear, Lance asked,  _Hunk and Pidge, have they agreed to the plan? You know, seeing as it was mine? They might not want to follow it._

He perceived something like grief wash over him and could only assume it was Allura's and felt his heart sink.  _They are undecided. But have faith in them, Lance, if the moment calls for it they will pull through. Besides, if they don't I'll threaten them with only goo for breakfast, lunch and tea for a month._

Lance laughed out loud, real and proper, subdued, unlike his usual high pitched giggles, but it still made him feel a little more himself. Keith gave him a strange look from his wall of brooding silence. A little lost for words (lost for thought?) Lance couldn't answer Allura but hoped she could feel his answering relief through the bond. It was a curious thing, this bond between him and Allura; it was a lot like talking on the comms, however, he couldn't just hear her, he could feel her, like a feather being dragged against his mind. It was also extremely centring and Lance knew if it wasn't for her opening this connection between them, he would be in terrible shape.

His mother used to call it heart sickness, where his body was physically fine, but his mind and heart were unwell and it left him bed ridden for days on end, victim to continual panic attacks and unable to stomach any food. On these days she would stay home with him, despite desperately needing to work to support the family, and stroke the hair back from his face. When he asked what was wrong with him, why he was so weak, she'd simply say,  _"It's not weakness. You've just overworked your emotional capacity. It's just like when you push your body to its limits, you'll collapse at the end. You feel things so deeply, you feel them right in your centre, take everything said to you straight to the heart. And yet you still give so much back. You just need rest."_

Lance fell back against the awful bed, dragging his hands down his face. 

From his wall, Keith asked, "How'd you know they wouldn't give Thace up in the end?" 

"Because then we'd have no reason to remain here. No reason to behave and to what they say. Lotor knew as soon as Thace was out of harms way that we'd make a break for it. It's to keep us subdued, so he can get whatever he wants out of you," he explained, describing what he said visually with his hands above him. Hunk always told him that Lance's hand gestures when he talked was one of the reasons he'd first noticed him at the Garrison orientation day. He said Lance had a way of drawing attention to himself, drawing people in as he dramatically drew out everything he said with his hands. Hunk said it was why he had approached Lance as he was mid conversation with his parents. They instantly connected.  

"Hey, I'm Hunk, it's cool to meet you, dude."

"Lance!" His hand thrust out in front of him and they shook firmly. He glanced around the giant lecture room all one hundred students plus their families had gathered in. "Crazy stuff, right?" His hands flew up and gestured to the room. 

Hunk nodded, his bottom lip catching on his teeth, obviously nervous. Lance wondered where his parents were. Every other kid here had at least one parent with them, however, this guy walked over to Lance alone. Maybe they just went to the bathroom or something obvious like that? But looking at Hunk's face, Lance thought it was something else, but it wasn't any of his business. Instead, he grinned toothily to distract the other boy from the nervous tremors that were running through him, chucking an arm around his wide shoulders as if he'd done it a million times before—as he'd do a million times again over the coming years—to draw him in.

"Don't worry, pal, I have a feeling we're gonna kick ass around here."

Two months later Lance had learned that Hunk's father had been diagnosed with a terminal illness the morning of his orientation, which was why Hunk had been alone that day. A year later he died peacefully in bed. It had been a terrible time for Hunk. Six months before he'd passed he'd informed Hunk and his family that he was going to donate his body to science when he died. Hunk had been extremely opposed to this, had spent countless hours sobbing on Lance's shoulder about how he couldn't stand the thought of some group of medical students cutting open his father. Couldn't stand to live in a world where his father was a tool for other people to use. Thus, it had created a massive rift in the family, and had unfortunately led to Hunk being absent the day his father died. In his defence, Hunk thought he'd have at least a week more to fly home from the Garrison. He'd been catastrophically wrong and on the morning he'd planned to leave had received a call from his mother to explain what happened.

It destroyed him, ate him up from the inside out, shrivelled up his happiness, his courage and his heart, so much so that he refused to eat or drink for weeks and Lance was forced to report him to the Garrison councillor. At nights, across the small space between their beds, he'd hear the barely constrained sobs and repeated, " _I'm a coward,"_ until Lance, too, was crying and ended up slipping into his friend's bed to run his hands through his hair, like his mother did. Lance found he was good at channelling people when he needed to. When the situation turned desperate.

"Lance." There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him back into consciousness. He didn't remember falling asleep, was surprised he even could, given the situation. Above him Keith's face was distressed, his skin pulling tightly over his bones and his eyes shifting around the room. "Get up, I think they're coming to get us." 

Lance sprung up in an instant, suddenly aware of the sound of multiple footsteps coming their way. His head protested with a wave of dizziness, a side effect of layer upon layer of stress combined with his literal zero intake of food or water in the last twelve hours. A hand slipped around to cup his shoulder silently as Lance blinked away the daze. As the footsteps came closer Keith's fingers hooked tightly into the black material and they both kept their attention trained on the purple energy bars keeping them contained. When Lotor's sweeping (he literally _swooped_ everywhere he went, it was ridiculous) figure appeared on the other side they both took a harsh intake of breath—his eyes were the burning pits of Hell as he smiled all too pleasantly down at the caged Paladin's. He scanned his hand along the panel next to their cell and the energy bars disappeared. 

There was nothing to separate him, a wicked sword comfortably resting on his hip, and the unarmed Paladins crouched together on the shitty bed. There were two other Galra behind him. The same one with the featureless face from before, and another woman with a long ponytail looking attachment to her head. Lance's throat bobbed and Keith's eyes narrowed, like he was searching for something in them both. He'd seen it in his face the first time they'd encountered the large Commander. 

"I trust you've both settled in?" Lotor began, hands gesturing grandly to the cell as if it were a five-star retreat and didn't stink of stale piss. Neither Keith nor Lance answered, their mouths sealed firmly shut. Lotor clucked his tongue at this. "All quiet on me now? But you were both so mouthy when we chatted earlier. Perhaps I was wrong to assume humans had brilliant personalities to make up for their awful looks?" 

Lance was too focussed on the hand that rested too casually on the hilt of his weapon to come up with a clever response to that. He kept imagining the edge of the blade gliding over his skin, splitting it open like a knife through butter. Overtime Lance had imagined his death countless times since joining Voltron, each one became more graphic than the last.

Lotor wasn't like Zarkon: The Prince was constantly moving, either gesturing with his hands or shifting on his feet, or even just slicing his eyes around the room. There was something wild and unpredictable about him, but with a glint of intelligence, as if he knew exactly what kind of affect this had on Lance. It was familiar territory, training your body to convey a certain message because you wanted a specific reaction from someone. 

"I suppose you've realised by now that we aren't going to give your friend back, but we have detached the anchors and left your ship alone. You Paladin's sure go to extraordinary lengths for a rescue mission, though giving me the both of you I can't help but feel is a little over the top." The featureless woman leaned forwards and said something into his ear. "Oh," he grinned. "So I wasn't bluffing when I called you both young lovers. I see the issue then. No matter, come along and we'll have a chat. Having the both of you here will prove fruitful."

* * *

They were taken to the bridge, a large room with various stations dedicated to multiple different Galra doing something important on their screens. Though Lance could have sworn he saw one of them playing the space equivalent of Solitaire before the screen quickly swapped to something with diagrams as Lotor's head swung their way.

Lotor was seated on a comfortable looking chair in the middle of the room, Lance and Keith standing directly in front of him. Lance was staring at his shoes, feeling a familiar sense of dread clinging to his throat as it did when he recalled vague memories of his time held captive by Sendak. Lotor's chin was propped up by his hand and his legs were crossed, the leg on top moving rhythmically in the air, the consistency reminding Lance of the tick of a clock.

 _Tickticktickticktick._  

_Your time is almost up._

"I can see your eyes flicking around all wild-like, Red Paladin. Which either means, one, you're looking for an escape, or two, you're looking for your mother," Lotor spoke calmly, that dickish grin incessant and unnerving.

_His mother._

Amongst everything going on Lance had somehow forgotten that fact.

Keith's eyes didn't change, though Lance heard the slight hitch in his breath as he caught himself just before acting out. Lance felt the air tremble with the sheer will it took him to keep himself still. _Huh._  Perhaps Keith had learned a thing or two from Shiro after all. Lance was relieved that he at least taking what he said earlier on board. He was thinking before acting, catching himself just before he burst out with something irrational and generally a little immoral (point and case to the time Keith decided King Lubos would make a convenient knife sharpener).

"I'm sorry if I miss informed you before, but she's not here at the moment. Currently she's occupied on a mission far away from here, but don't worry, follow the rules and you'll get to be reunited soon enough. That is the main reason you decided to come aboard is it not?" The Prince's head was tilting to the side, watching Keith with a predator-like interest.

Lance's head flew around to Keith. _Don't tell me._ "You didn't do all this just so you could meet your Galra mum, did you? Tell me you didn't just use Thace as an excuse." Lance pleaded. Keith's eyes didn't meet his. 

"He wasn't," he said sharply. His eyes finally turned to Lance's and inside them he read a pleading,  _trust me._

Lance supposed he didn't have a choice, given the situation. 

"Blah blah blah, enough talk and more business," Lotor waved a hand, dismissing them. "Anyway, I think you'll quite enjoy what I want from you." 

Unconvinced, Lance said, "Define 'enjoy.'"

"I want you to help me find the Black Paladin." 

Keith drew in a sharp breath beside Lance and his hand whipped out to grasp his shoulder the moment he felt the air shift. Keith was going to charge Lotor.  _Baby steps,_ Lance thought with a sigh. He was still learning.

Keith remained rooted to his spot, Lance's hand anchoring him where he was—so long as he kept his hand there, kept that point of contact, Keith would stay where he was. Lance's eyes caught Lotor's and he tried his best to keep the slight tremble of anger out of his voice when he spoke. 

"What's the Black Paladin to you?" 

"A trophy." 

As much as Lance's hand could keep Keith still, it couldn't stop his mouth from moving.  _Keith, focus,_ Lance tried to plead silently, begging him to somehow hear him. "Fucking prick," Keith snarled. "We're not going to help you turn Shiro into a stuffed head on your wall." 

 _OhmyfuckingGodthisguy._ Lance's hand squeezed painfully into Keith's shoulder and he battled back the images of his fingers sinking into Keith's skin in his dream. "Calm down, Keith." 

And he did, somehow, a fraction, his shoulder's surrendering to Lance's painful grip.

Lotor's face had twisted into a frown, constructed to give off some kind of hurt, taunting them like a child with his toys. It was all a game to him. "You know what, I don't like your tone." Lance only had a moment to catch the slight movement of his finger against the chair's armrest before he heard the _whoosh_  of something flying through the air, incoming from his left side. 

He moved instinctually, twisting out of the way as a glowing arrow flew by his head, and imbedded itself in the wall opposite, the end of it shaking with the simply amazing force it had been shot at. Lance felt a slight burning sensation on his cheek and something wet dripped onto his shoulder. A graze. His eyes shot to the figure standing on the overhang balcony at the back of the room. The featureless woman lowered her crossbow.

Lance and Keith remained deadly still, not wishing to risk another shot being fired at him.

"I take it we have an agreement then?" Lotor grinned, satisfied, his purple eyes tracked the drops of blood slowly making their way down his face with glee.

Lance shrugged like it was no big deal, _not like we have a choice._

* * *

Back in their cell Keith was trying to get the attention of Thace, who still had yet to move from his position slumped against the wall. He was whispering his name viciously between clenched teeth, leaning as close as he dared to the electrical bolts of energy, though he was still far too close for Lance's comfort.

Lance himself was laying on the bed again. Keith seemed too strung out and twitchy with unchecked energy that he figured he wouldn't give a shit if Lance claimed the bed. Just after they'd been thrown back into their cell, Keith had immediately ordered Lance to sit down on the bed while he wet the one towel they were given and came back to sit opposite him. He held up the wet towel before him, his eyes seeking silent permission from Lance.

Lance nodded.

He'd hissed when the towel brushed against his cheek and instantly felt like a baby. Keith didn't apparently seem to think so, his eyes were oddly sombre, heavy and weighted, as he gently dabbed the blood away. Regret, Lance realised. He was slowly becoming more aware of his actions, just too late. Something to work on. Keith clucked his tongue when the wound immediately began to bleed straight away and Lance could feel his breath on his face as he became frustrated and wiped over it again.

"It's a shallow cut, I don't understand why it's still bleeding so much," he said, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle with the intensity of his scowl, like the wound on Lance's face offended him in some way.

"It was a glowing arrow, so I'm not surprised. Is the wound glowing?" 

Keith shook his head. Well, that was certainly a relief.

He'd left the towel with Lance so he could keep it pressed up against his face as he lay on the bed, ordering him to keep the pressure on. Then he'd gone off to start his little _Wake Up, Jeff_ game with Thace. It was thus far, unsuccessful. 

"Give it a rest, Keith. We can see his chest rising and falling, so we know he's alive." 

"Doesn't mean that he will be for long," Keith argued, but he moved away from the electrical bars and towards the bed. He sat down at the end. It was really only big enough for one person, so Lance figured they'd have to take turns sleeping on it.Lance could feel the vibration of Keith's leg bouncing up and down through the bed. He was nervous, for obvious reasons, but Lance recalled it being the same kind of behaviour he'd used when he was on the verge of giving Lance that fakeass apology. Lance understood now that it took him prompting Keith to actually get him to spit it out. It was the one time Keith ever asked for permission to speak.

He pillowed his hands under his head, throwing away the bloody towel. Who cared if he bled out all over the bed? It was probably already covered in all kinds of filthy shit. "What's on your mind, Keith?" 

Keith's breath left him in a rush—relieved. "I shouldn't have lied about why I wanted to come here." 

"You didn't lie," Lance corrected. "I know you genuinely wanted to save Thace, you feel like you owe him. You just avoided the whole truth. Bit of an asshole thing to do, seeing as I like to know all the potential risks of you running off into danger. I'm honestly glad your mum isn't here so she isn't one of them." 

Lance felt Keith's leg stop jiggling. "And I'm sorry for risking your life." 

His eyes flicked down to Keith, running over the curve of his back to where his head disappeared over his shoulders as he leant over his legs. Lance's hand moved and brushed over the split skin of his cheek. It was still bleeding slightly, whatever that arrow was glowing with stopped the wound from healing itself like normal. His finger tips came away wet. He wiped them off on the bed. 

"Yeah, that was kind of stupid of you. At least you can recognise it now. Although I would suggest trying to recognise it before, and not after, they shoot an arrow at my head. They think we're some kind of weird Galra/human couple. They obviously need at least one of us alive and it's clear they'd prefer another half Galra, so they'll use me as bait to keep you in check." Keith hissed out a breath, like this fact physically pained him. "She missed on purpose, the one who shot at me, I could tell by the way her hands were positioned. It was a lazy shot, a taunt to display just how good her skills are if she were really trying. That means it was for show, he'll keep using me against you."

"Which is why we need to get out of here as fast as possible." 

"Which is why  _we need to play by their rules—_ just until we find and opening. Get Thace and get the hell out."  

Keith abruptly swung around to face Lance, his eyes burning hot. "He wants us to help him find Shiro so he can kill him. How can we play along with that?" 

"Simple, you just fucking do it, Keith. You suck up your pride even though it tastes like a piss stained jail cell and you act like it's the best thing that's ever happened to you. It's called pretending." 

Keith scoffed, mood souring in that awful way it did. "You'd know all about that." 

"Fuck off, Keith." 

_Baby steps._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin: reallife me.  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean: aesthetic me. 
> 
> I'm sorry if you don't know who Jeff is.


	9. Day Eighteen: Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Lance sleeps, Keith and Hunk struggle with their own minds. Someone makes an inompherhesable choice.

Lance fell asleep that night as heavily as a rock in water. He was stretched too thin, both his body and heart hanging on by a mere thread. Keith had allowed him to have the bed while he kept watch instead, sitting next to it, his head leaning back onto the thin mattress. 

It was close enough to Lance's hand that he could feel the soft brush of Keith's dark hair every time he shifted positions.

The room was by no means comfortable to fall asleep in, it was cold and damp, and Lance could constantly hear the whines and cries from other prisoners faintly further down the corridor. Yet, Lance's eyes slipped shut and his consciousness was swept out from under him regardless, the heat of Keith's head a few centimetres away from his hand the only comforting thing left in the universe.  

And so he slept. 

* * *

Hunk did not sleep that night. 

Not at all. 

Not even a wink. 

His mind was too full of Lance—and Pidge, and Keith. Of course, there was also the ever present gnawing sensation in his chest that belonged to Shiro, or to put it accurately, _Not_ Shiro. His absence, almost like a being itself; foul and always snickering at them as they fell further apart. Lance and Keith's absence was, dare he admit it, almost a relief, reassuring in that Hunk wouldn't have to look at Lance for a while. Even Keith's face was a sight he couldn't bare anymore. Hunk needed some time without any of these ugly, unrecognisable and horrible faces around him.

Of course, the life of a Paladin was never that easy.

Pidge walked into the training room; Hunk in the middle of blasting his bayard at an incoming drone, shattering it to pieces. Hunk may have used more force than absolutely necessary, but Keith had been right: there was no better place in the castle to let off steam. And Hunk had endless tons of it inside himself these days.

"Umm, hey," Pidge said from the door, her tiny form barely even filling up the empty threshold. She almost looked like part of the structure, the way she leaned into it, as if hoping to camouflage and hide away.

He responded with a grim nod, his bayard dematerialising at his side. They stood in a terrible, strained silence for two minutes. Hunk was counting. It was a habit of his, counting the silence between him and whoever he was talking to, using at as a distraction.  _"Try filling your head with your own voice if ever you find the silence too uncomfortable. It helps,"_  his father used to tell him. He explained that it was how he distracted himself when the people went silent around him whenever his illness was brought up, so he wouldn't feel suffocated by it. A vicious pang shot through him, searing hot. 

Eventually Hunk got sick of hearing his own voice inside his head.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked Pidge.

Pidge's eyes flew nervously around the room, skittish and fluttery, and Hunk saw the way her hand clutched at the wall she was leaning against. "I—" she began, her voice catching in her throat. She tried again. "I just wanted to know if you've made up your mind about Lance's plan." 

"Depends on whether the Princess was telling the truth. Do you actually think she and Lance can speak in each other's minds?" he began rambling and once he'd started, he couldn't stop. An endless onslaught. "And if so, how much can we rely on it? There might be a limit to how far away they can communicate. Lance has taken a huge risk by giving himself _and_ Keith over to the Galra. We only have two Paladins now. _Two._ We have five lions but only two pilots. It's all one huge mess and without Shiro I honestly—"

"Seriously?" Pidge cut in and he looked over at her incredulously. "You're gonna spout that shit?" 

"Pidge, language," he scolded, feeling annoyingly parent-like. 

She'd marched her way into the room now, apparently pissed enough that she'd forgotten that he and her were currently in the middle of  _ignoring_ each other. "I know you're mad at Lance, I am too, I'm pretty sure everyone is mad at him. We're all fed up with each other because we're stuck on a _spaceship_ twenty-four hours a day together and we've been acting like absolute trash. I thought it was a phase though, I was convinced that we'd come back from it, that we could function without Shiro, and I'm willing to try. But you're giving up before you've even tried."

"Lance's plan though—" 

"Is all we've got," Pidge interrupted with a growl. "At least he had the decency to try and come up with something, despite everything, despite whatever was going on inside his head. The rest of us just stared at screen and spewed out everything we couldn't do. Did you see him after pushed Allura? Did you see his face?"

Hunk suspected he was supposed to nod, now feeling like he was the one getting scolded by parent-Pidge. Vaguely he thought Pidge would make a good mum in the future.

"That wasn't him. At least not the him we know. He had no right to say the things he did to you, yes, but we're the ones who all pushed him there. You and I both know he would never purposefully push Allura like that. It was provoked."

Hunk's gaze dropped away from Pidge's and he rubbed at the back of his sweaty neck. She was now standing a few meters away from him, the giant size of the room swallowing her whole. "You've really been thinking this through, haven't you?" he said. 

Pidge continued like she hadn't heard him. "If you think we can't do this without Shiro, then you're willingly sending Keith and Lance—and  _Thace—_ to their deaths. If Keith is willing to work with Lance, why can't you? We're Paladin's. We're supposed to put these things behind us. We have less than _half_ our team, Hunk, it's up to us to make sure they come back." 

Hunk had begun to nod along with Pidge's words, his head hanging to the ground. His mind was roaring with thoughts of Lance—the one person with the least capabilities for the situation he had willing thrown himself into. He thought of his father—still a preserved corpse lying in some random med lab, cut open in a thousand different ways, students with their scalpels raised over him who didn't even know his name, taking and _taking_. As if they had any right. Hunk not _being_ there for him when he'd finally died. The guilt of still being mad at his own father two years after he'd stopped breathing. 

Lance had taken a gun to his chest and blown a hole so large inside him Hunk wasn't sure it would ever heal. No matter what, there were always things that should never  _ever_ be said out loud. Lance had knowingly shot that gun inside Hunk, deadly aware of the exact affect and repercussions it would have, because he _wanted_ Hunk to hurt too.  

Could he forgive that? 

His instincts told him never, but his brain told him he'd have no choice. 

All Hunk could manage was, "I don't know if I can, Pidge. I really don't know." 

Pidge was silent. 

Then: "Will you at least forgive me? It's the least we twisted people could do right now. You could just start with that." Her voice was hushed, her eyes falling to the ground. 

Somehow, he managed a laugh, bitter, but still faintly amused. "Honestly, I'd forgiven you already like five days after our fight, I was just too stubborn and secretly wanted an apology."

"Well, in that case, I'm sorry," she said. He saw her eyes swish sideways, looking impish. "Wanna get some food goo?"

"Heck yes."

Hunk walked out of the training room and for the first time didn't immediately feel compelled to turn back.

* * *

Keith felt an odd warmth spread out on the top of his head.

Shaking himself awake, feeling the painful cramp in his neck because of the awkward sideways angle he'd fallen asleep at, Keith surveyed their cell, ensuring there were no watchful eyes on them. As he moved to push himself forward away from the side of the bed, he felt the weight at the top of his head slide down onto his shoulder, and then down again, falling over his chest. It lay still there, in the very centre of his chest, right above where Keith could feel the continuous beat of his heart—could feel it catch for a moment before starting up again, twice as fast. 

Keith couldn't bring himself to move any further, feeling secured to the spot through just the warmth of Lance's hand alone. It was always the same, every single time. It was when Lance had pulled back on his shoulder to stop Keith from taking out the Glara sentries on the Balmera, like when he'd pressed his fingers to his chest to keep Keith from racing out of the bridge to strangle Lotor, like when Lance dug his fingers into his flesh to keep Keith from charging at Lotor _again._ Every single fucking time Lance even so much as placed a finger on him, Keith abruptly found his feet rooted to the spot, and he could think clearly again. The clouds of rage clearing from his mind. 

It was the same thing again, Lance's hand over his chest, the soft whoosh of his breath faintly tickling the back of his head, but this time it made him nervous in the same instant it calmed him. It was like flying in Red for the first time, his mind clear, but his fingers and heart tingling with a nervous energy. 

He found his own hand moving up to rest over top of Lance's, pressing his brown hand closer in, like he could bury it inside himself and feel it wrapped around his heart. This was the only time he could be this close to Lance without causing him pain. He saw it in the way Lance tensed up whenever they brushed together. The way his face tightened, the skin pressed thinly around the bones, when Keith glanced his hand across his fragile shoulders. 

Something shifted in the cell opposite them. 

_Thace._

Keith's eyes narrowed in on the other Glara as his head slowly rose from its slumped position. With one eye as badly beaten as it was, swollen completely shut, only his left eye opened and immediately settled on Keith's form opposite. The only reaction he gave off was a slight frown and a sigh of broken breath; it rattled like loose stones in his chest and Keith was immediately twice as concerned. They needed to get him out of here, _and fast._

Keith refused to let him down a second time.

Disgruntled, Keith thought there was a lot of people he owed life debts to. It begun with the entirety of team Voltron, for coercing them all into to his ridiculous search for the Blue Lion. He could have easily just sent them all away, besides Shiro, for obvious reasons, back to the Garrison—back home—instead of forcing them all into an intergalactic mess. He'd seen the tremor in Lance's hand as he entered Arus' atmosphere, seen the way Hunk puked for reasons more than just his weak stomach. It had been harder with Pidge, she was more resolute than the other two, but eventually, when she was forced to take back the castle from Sendak herself, he'd heard the tremble inside her voice through the comms. _She was fifteen._ He had no right to force a fifteen-year-old girl into a life of war.

He'd done so anyway.

He'd just been so wretchedly lonely. 

Being surrounded by the four of them; it was the first time he'd been in a room with more than just himself and his own thoughts for company. Always filled with Shiro.  _Gotta find Shiro. I know they're lying. I refuse to believe he is dead. I can't do this without him. I need him back._ The same things on a continuous loop like a broken stereo. Then, finally he'd been surrounded by people, _real people_ , and there had been so much noise, so much talking, movement and utterly strange sensations around Keith that he was left breathless. He even noticed the way they all smelled, separately and together, became addicted to it because it was so _different._ He'd finally found a family, but in doing so what had it cost _them_?  

Instead of feeling guilty though, Keith had revelled in it, rolled around in all these new sensations and feelings, in Hunk's hugs, Pidge's snide comments, Shiro's comforting hand, Lance's taunts. Keith had loved every second of Voltron.

Losing Shiro had made it startlingly clear how much the others had not.   

Thace's eye slipped shut again, his brief moment of consciousness stolen from him. Though on his lips, was left the residue of a faint smile.

Keith, impossibly, pressed Lance's hand closer to him, wanted to press his face into it and breathe in the smell of him—soapy and fresh, like dry laundry hung out on the line in the middle of spring. He didn't though, foremost because if Lance woke up to _that,_ then—he didn't want to think about a world where Lance suffered through that. 

Keith had two goals now that he was here:

One, get Thace off the ship. 

Two, get Lance off the ship. 

Whether Keith made it off was irrelevant—redundant.

* * *

When Lance woke up, his stomach screaming at him with hunger, he found he couldn't move his right hand. He looked over the edge of the bed to find it was wrapped up under Keith's against his chest. The Red Paladin held it so tightly Lance felt the ends of his fingers tingling with the lack of blood and considered yanking it back, instantly remembering his dream, but stopped himself when he noticed Keith's eyes weren't closed.

They were wide open, staring lifelessly at the purple bars of energy in front of him.

His face looked even more gaunt now, eyes sunken and circled with dark shadows, and through the black suit his hand was pressed against, Lance could feel the prominent shape of his ribs. Lance imagined he didn't look much better, but staring at Keith was like looking at a corpse. Gone was the recklessness, gone was the cruelty—he looked like he had just made the decision to die. 

Cold, unfeeling, cutting himself off because he knew what awaited for him at the end. He didn't even notice Lance peering at him from over his shoulder.  _Maybe he just sleeps with his eyes open like a fucking weirdo?_ Lance thought hopefully. But he knew better. 

Keith didn't intend to come out of this alive, Lance realised with growing horror. 

Then:  _That wasn't part of our agreement._

_I won't forgive you unless we're both alive by the end of this, you inconceivable asshole._

A deal was a deal. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like a change up this chapter. Hope it suffices. 
> 
> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin: Real me.  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean: Aesthetic me. 
> 
> tbh if the show won't develop Hunk, then I will.  
> (reminds myself that Voltron is technically a kids show so I can't be too mad) 
> 
> xoxox


	10. Day Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith are separated and realise things they both wished they hadn't.

Lotor requested a private meeting with Lance. 

Requested might have been a poorly relative term for it though because it was clearly, by the way the faceless Galra Commander's crossbow was pointed between his shoulders, a non-optional activity. Keith had been less than pleased by this development, corralling Lance into a corner and placing himself between he and the Commander. Lance found this annoying but faintly endearing. But Keith was being ridiculous and wasting his energy on a pointless display of valour. There was a time and place for such courage, but now wasn't the time. Not when they were both running off one meal a day and limited water. 

With one hand on the Red Paladin's shoulder, Lance gently nudged him to the side, telling him to stand down as he made his way to the Commander. Keith had looked at Lance with twitching hands and panicked eyes as the purple energy bars shot up between them and he was escorted down the corridor. He could feel the head of the crossbow burn at the point it rested between his shoulders, could hear the hum of energy that ran through it. It felt alive; and eager for a kill. 

Lance obeyed with the utmost caution. 

He could pretend for now. 

Ten minutes of wandering the endless corridors, Lance meticulously trying to memorise the route they were taking— _right, right, left, right, left, left,_  that was about as far he could remember—and they were entering a large room split in the centre by large banquet table. It was overflowing with food, great heaping piles of it. Though food in space always looked slightly different, slightly disfigured and discoloured, Lance could see the equivalent of fruit platters, slices of succulent meat, and about a hundred different kinds of _desserts._  God, Lance adored deserts. Cakes, biscuits, tarts, ice-creams, anything sweet, and it had him frothing at the mouth.

Lance's stomach let out a whine of frustration.

This was a scene out of a movie, a ploy so obvious but tantalising it had Lance whimpering like kicked puppy. Lotor sat at the opposite end of the table, a purple fruit shaped like an apple held between his taloned fingers. The entire room glowed a soft violet, with flashes of orange from the drapes over the walls that lined the room, and Lotor's purple skin practically melted into the room like he was part of it. 

 _Allura?_ he tried calling out, stretching his mind out to her, feeling it catch on hers like Velcro. 

 _I'm here,_ she instantly reassured. Lance had only braved a few conversations with her in the last day and a half, aware of the fact there were likely Druids aboard the ship and unsure of the full extent of their abilities. It was a risk he'd like to keep to a minimum. 

_I think Lotor is about to ask something from me, and I'm not sure how to approach this. You're the diplomat, any advice?_

He could practically feel the flutter of her thinking inside his mind.  _Stall for time, try and drag as much information out of him as possible before you agree to anything. If he wants something from you, it means you have the capacity to demand your own terms from him._

 _Okay,_ he thought.  _I'll try my best. Are you still tracking us? Make sure you stay a safe distance away from us so they don't pick up on you tailing them._

_We're on your tail. And we're staying cautious. Whatever you do, Lance, do not let them know where the tracker is._

_I won't,_ he reassured.  _Okay, gotta go now. Sweet dreams, hon._

He felt Allura's faint amusement. _It's the middle of the day._

_Time is a made-up concept, and you can dream during the day; it's called daydreaming._

_Good luck, Lance._ She clicked out. 

"Blue Paladin," Lotor's voice murmured softly, his mouth twitching to the side. "Care for a bite?" 

Lance took a deep breath, refusing to pull his eyes away from the Glara in front of him, for it would only serve to make the act unconvincing. Lance was an expert at this. 

He _grinned_ at the Prince, meeting him smirk for smirk.

See, Lance was aware that Lotor was a terrifying guy, no doubt about that, but Keith's words from days that felt long ago rung inside his head.  _"When you talk, your mouth moves like this, but your eyes don't match the way your mouth moves—the shit you spout out of that thing is different to whatever is going on inside your head. You lie."_ Everything from the way Lotor spoke, the the way he held himself, was carefully crafted to insinuate a meticulously planned personality. It was a show, a ploy he used to get the reactions out of people he needed.

It was like looking into a mirror.

Lance revelled in that gaze upon him, because he could see the flicker of something else completely inside the Galra. Now Lance understood what Keith meant when he said that to Lance. And now he knew exactly how to play Lotor's game. 

He held up a hand. "I'm good thanks, I'm growing quite attached to literal horse shit for food," he joked, feeling a sense familiarity slip over him like a mask. This was old and easy territory for Lance. It was the mask he slipped on whenever he spoke to someone that wasn't Hunk or Pidge in Garrison.  

Lotor's amusement didn't falter. "Well, at least have a seat." His hand made a fluttering gestured and Lance felt the crossbow fade from his back. Through the cool sensation that hit the small point of contact, Lance could tell it had burned through his suit. Unease fluttered through him.  _Too close._

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Lance flopped down lazily into the empty seat offered to him, feeling his stomach moan pathetically at the giant platter of strange fruits in front of him. Lotor's hands crossed in front of him, the fruit laid down on the table untouched. Lance wondered which of them could smirk for the longest. Surely one of them would have to falter eventually.

"I have a request from you, Blue Paladin," Lotor began smoothly.

Lance's head cocked sideways, in that way he knew would cause his brown hair to flop endearingly over his forehead. "I figured as much."

The two liars, deceivers of hearts and minds, smiled at each other over the dining table.  _Let the games begin._

* * *

Keith was walking circles around the cell, it was almost dizzying considering how tiny it was and had nearly sent him stumbling into the electrical bars as his head tipped to the side. He couldn't stop, not when his mind was moving so fast. He needed his body to move to keep up.

 _Lance,_ his mind was screaming.  _Lancelancelancelancelancelancelancelance._ Over and over again. And there was nothing coherent about it, only a mess of the other boy's name and a crippling sense of helplessness. He thought about what Lance had told him about being used as bait to sedate Keith's behaviour. He wanted to smack Lance over the head for giving himself over so easily over to the Commander  _bitch._ That stupid smile planted on his face like it was no big deal. Blue eyes sparkling like it was something he did everyday. 

Keith felt his body trembling as he continued his circle of pacing, frustrated noises huffing out his mouth every now and then. If he could have, he would have thrown himself against the electrical bars, but he'd seen the way Lance had given him a meaningful look, felt the hand on his shoulder silently telling him to _calm down_ , and knew Lance was right. They did have to play by their rules, just until they found an opening. But Keith didn't realise that was going to entail them dragging Lance off alone to do God knows what. 

" _Red Paladin,_ " a gasping voice strained from across the corridor and Keith's head did a one-eighty to swing to Thace, who was conscious again.

He'd come in and out of it during the last day and a half but had never been able to squeeze out even a single word. The guards had been giving him food at the same time they fed Keith and Lance, but the bowls had just been collecting mould at the corner of his cell. He was dreadfully underweight and Keith had started being able to pick up the faint smell of infection as his wounds continued to fester. Keith had always had a sensitive nose. _A Glara trait?_ he thought bitterly.  

"Thace," Keith rushed towards the edge of his cell, glad for a distraction from his hellhole of a mind. "Are you okay?" 

Thace didn't answer, his shoulders were hunched over and he couldn't see his face. It hung towards the ground lifelessly. Keith grew frenzied. 

" _Thace._ " 

"Did you regret it?" the Galra dragged out through a rattling breath. Keith felt the words like talons raked down his chest, felt himself go cold. 

" _What?"_

Thace's head snapped up, his one visible eye bright and yellow against the violet glow of the room, accusing. Keith drew back a fraction. "Did you regret leaving me there to die, Red Paladin?" 

A broken sound broke free of Keith's lips.  _What the fuck was happening?_ "You're the one that told me to go," he growled, his discontent naturally translating through habitual anger, to hide the hurt that was rapidly spreading through his veins like ice. "I just did what you asked."

"Sometimes people say one thing, but mean another. I would have thought you'd have learned that by now, being so close to your Blue Paladin."

Keith wretched forwards again and flinched when his face got too close to the energy bars, felt it sizzling against his skin and bury itself into his bones. He pulled himself backwards with a cry, holding his hand up to his face. "I don't understand why you're saying this. We've come back to get you out. This is a fucking rescue mission and you're sitting there calling me a murderer and you're _not even dead_. You're whole thing is knowledge or death! I thought you respected that?"  

"Do you abandon everyone who needs you? Did you abandon Ulaz, too, Red Paladin?" Something about the way Thace was talking struck Keith as odd, it was like listening to a altered recording of someone after hearing the actual thing in real life. It wasn't matching up. Keith, with a start, realised why. 

"I introduced myself to you when we first met," he began, flinching as the movement of his mouth stretched the burned flesh over his face. "Say my name." 

Thace remained silent, his glowing yellow eye fixed on Keith. 

" _Say it!_ " Keith bellowed, feeling his voice crack and splinter with growing dread—devastated, because deep inside he knew what the truth really meant. Didn't want it. 

Instead of answering, Thace's face split into a sinister grin, his teeth starkly white against the dimness of the cell. Keith understood now, and felt his entire body sag, his hand slipping down from his face to rest on the cold dead floor below him. Felt invisible shackles rise out of the ground and hook around his wrists. 

Thace finally spoke. "I wish I could, Red Paladin, however, I'm afraid _we_ haven't been introduced yet."

And, finally, after days of malnutrition, stress, grief and raw and burning emotions roiling through his entire body, Keith felt his consciousness violently ripped out from under him, his eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed to the floor—felt the shackles fasten around the rest of his body and the deathly cold metal seep through his skin and burrow itself into his body.

* * *

Lance found it was scarily easy to have a pleasant conversation with Prince Lotor as they discussed their favoured fashion statement item. The normalcy of the conversation was startlingly eerie.

"I myself prefer capes," Lotor continued, his hands making the same fluttery movements they did whenever he was talking about himself, the same way Lance's did.  _Jesus,_ Lance thought,  _if I were a purple Galra Prince..._ "However, I do also tend to dabble in the odd jewel or two. Advantage of having more Altean ears, they are easier to pierce and thus easier to decorate."

Lance nodded his head along eagerly, studiously ignoring the fresh scent of the delicious looking fruit platter in front of him. "Oh, absolutely I pierced my ears when I was eleven and experimented heavily with earrings. Unfortunately when you reach High School it becomes less cool and more... _gay_ ," he said with purposeful venom. 

Lotor looked confused as he delicately nibbled at a strawberry looking fruit. "Is gay an insult?"

"No. It's just misused and spat all over to condition kids into growing up straight as a nail."

Lotor still looked confused. "Straight as a nail," he repeated, as if tasting the words inside his mouth. "Do humans come in curved shapes, too?"

"The best of us do," Lance smirked, shooting a couple of good ol' finger guns at the Prince. He was eternally thankful none of his teammates were here to see him flirting with the enemy. Well, at least on one level he realised he was _definitely_ one part gay. How did his life turn out this way again? Oh yeah, Keith had to drag them off into the desert to track down a blue lion. Well, at least he didn't feel strange staring at boys anymore. He'd always thought it was jealousy, the way his eyes would annoyingly catch on a decent looking boy, thought that he just wanted to look like him.

But Lance definitely did not want a mullet.

Lotor was chuckling lowly in his throat, his face turned half away from Lance like he was all bashful and swindled. _Nice try, asshole. Nyma made the same face before she cruelly propelled me into a tree and stole my lion._ When Lotor's face shifted slightly, his laughing eyes losing a touch of their glittering humour and flattening out, Lance knew the mood had shifted. He thought Lance was all buttered up and ready for him.

Likefuckinghellhewas.

"I have a proposal."

Lance spread his arms out, gesturing to the room around them. "That's the whole reason I'm here, right?"

"It involves your dear Red Paladin." Lance went still, even though he expected this. "I have noticed the way he reacts to you, the way your words and touch alone can influence him so easily, the way you stopped him from charging at me the other day. He listens to you. I want him to listen to me the same way."

"All it takes really is him overlooking your entire existence for three years in the Garrison and you nearly dying a few times for him to give a shit about you, shouldn't be too much of a challenge," Lance joked, forcing the mood in the room to remain light hearted.

Lotor stood from his seat. "Unfortunately, I don't have that much time on my hands. I need him now, and you're going to do it for me."  

 _Oh,_ this was bad. 

"I can see the same thing that slithers around inside my gut as it does in yours. You weren't the only one playing this game, dear Blue. I see through you just as clearly as you see through me, though I do admit I enjoyed our conversation." He'd begun to walk up the length of the table, on Lance's right, his cape snapping around his heels and hands behind his back. "That thing that coils inside you, it's the essence of a Galra. It's inside me, too _._  That's why we're the same, you and I. You've felt it, haven't you? You've felt it's terrible power."

Lance carefully pulled himself out of his seat and backed up slightly, feeling alarm ringing inside his ears. Backed up until he felt the click of the crossbow behind him. Cornered. Shackled to his spot. He kept his gaze level with the Prince as he grew closer, but frightfully aware of the way he saw through it instantly. 

His eyes were gleaming. 

"Oh, you've hurt people with it already. That's good, very good. Means it will come easier to you from now on," he purred. He was right in front of Lance now, and this close, he realised just how much taller the Prince was. He felt his courage dip as he looked up into the purple eyes, saw how they flickered with impatience. He wanted to get this over quickly. He really was on a tight schedule. 

Lance sucked in a breath when he felt the sharp points of Lotor's fingers against his stomach, felt it cave in under the contact. With only the under-suit there to protect his vulnerable flesh, Lance was suddenly aware of how easy it would be for Lotor to open him up, allowing all the contents inside him to spill free. The hand slipped around more comfortably over his stomach as Lotor moved to stand behind him, towering over Lance's fragile form, both his hands now against him—dangerous and deceptively soft. He could feel the phantom brush of Sendak's hand over his face when Lotor's breath whooshed over him from behind. His body was a hot iron pressed up all the way Lance's back. The hands continued moving gently against his abdomen.

His stomach stirred.

He felt Lotor's chuckle through his back. "There it is, I can feel it, churning and growling, desperate to be let loose." His hands pressed in closer, his claws digging in through the black material until they rested upon Lance's bare skin. "I want you to let it out, and keep your Red Paladin in check. Influence him, make him listen to this slithering thing inside you. Turn him into the Galra he was always meant to be. I want the Red Paladin to serve me, and then show him off to the universe. A Paladin of Voltron—a soldier of the Galra empire. Mine to command."

Lance, somehow, despite his jittery thoughts, remembered what Allura had told him. "And the Black Paladin? What do you want with him?"

"I'll stick his head on my wall, and show the universe how his Right Hand is now mine to control. A trophy and a prize. I'll make sure the Altean Princess knows my power is absolute."

 _Keep him talking_. "And me? What will you do with me?"

"Like I said, keep the Red Paladin subdued, force him to help me find the Black Paladin. It's the only way you ever will. After all, I have the universe's only clue," Lotor's voice teased, his claws tightening again and Lance's stomach couldn't possibly retreat any further or he'd stop breathing. He felt the points of Lotor's claws sink into his flesh and begin to pull sideways, tearing small gashes into him. Lance resisted the urge to cry out, bit on his lip and held back the tears burning inside his eyes. Lotor kept going until he'd torn ten wretched lines into both his suit and flesh, blood slowly blooming. "All you have to do is allow that slithering thing inside you out. _Stop fighting it_." 

His chin was resting in the crook of Lance's neck and he could feel his smile against his skin, felt the sharp points of his teeth dangerously close to the delicate veins there. 

Suddenly, Lotor disappeared from behind him and used a hand to shove Lance to the ground. He fell with a graceless thump, felt his wrists groan in pain as they caught him just in time. The cool metal of the ground dug into the skin and hooked itself into Lance, anchoring him to the spot. Shackled. His stomach was screaming with pain and he could hear the faint drip of blood on the ground. And sickly, he felt that thing slither inside him once again—after days of keeping quiet—felt it crawl its way out of the gashes inside him and peep its head out—

And hiss.      

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> This was a heck ton of bad stuff. Hope you're alive. 
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean 
> 
> Hope this suffices as sufficient angst. xx


	11. Day Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith are at their wits end, and they realise something that should have been obvious from the beginning. Allura is determined.

Lance and Keith spent the following day in their cell unspeaking, separated in their own corners of misery and heartache, hands wrapped around their knees, which were tucked into their chests. They didn't speak a word to each other. Hardly even looked one another in the eye.

When Lotor had finally had his fill of absolute and catastrophic mind fuckery, Lance feeling utterly crushed and broken—honestly humiliated at allowing the Prince to get the upper hand on him—he'd had the Faceless Commander escort Lance back. Lance thought his legs wouldn't even be able to carry him, yet somehow he pushed himself shakily to his feet, hand clutching at his bleeding stomach, and followed the Commander out of the room. Lotor waved pleasantly at him while Lance dragged himself away, no trace of that chilling glint left in his laughing face. 

He looked like they'd just had an excellent date, or something mundane like that. It made Lance's gut coil in tightly with anger. But, frightened of it now, he willed the anger away, knowing what it could do.  

Lance walked back to the cell very slowly, not because he was keeping track of their route this time, but because his legs wouldn't move any faster. They dragged behind him like logs, his arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen, as if he could push everything back inside. Surprisingly, the Commander hadn't made any gesture for him to hurry up, seemingly content with their pace. Lance almost thanked her profusely for it. 

However, when they reached his cell, his good opinion of her rapidly fell again as she pulled out a small, gun-like object out of the belt of her suit. Without warning, one of her taloned hands struck out and caught Lance by his hair, pulling his head sharply to the side and baring his vulnerable neck. She brought the gun against him and moved her finger over the trigger.

Lance's heart pounded in his chest as he thought _this was it_ , the universe was officially done with his shit and here was his karma, faceless and terrifying. And a _woman._ The irony felt cruel. He hadn't even had a girlfriend yet. Maybe this was his payback for always  _fucking flirting_ with them.

She pulled the trigger and he felt an agonising pain rip through the side of his neck, it burned and caused him to whimper, catching his lip between his teeth against a full cry. But he wasn't dead. Her hand released him and an instant later the purple energy bars were falling down and he was being shoved inside again, his hand over his neck.

A dull automated voice said, "I just implanted a capsule of deadly toxin under the first few layers of your skin. If it's hit with enough force it will burst and quickly leak into your bodily system, rendering you deceased in under two minutes. It will be a very horrible death for you. The Prince has asked of you a task and if you fail or disobey the capsule will be hit either one of us, or himself. It could also burst accidentally, so please be careful. Do not attempt to remove it yourself, there is only one tool that can successfully do it without killing you in the process." Her voice came out methodical, toneless; neither masculine or feminine. Amusedly it reminded Lance of one of those voices from a car's navigation system.

The bars shot up again and Lance collapsed down onto his knees. Glancing to the left, Lance noticed Keith's unconscious form laying unmoving on the ground. His stomach dropped and he crawled over to the Red Paladin's body, grunting as he felt more blood seep through his fresh wounds. At least Lotor's claws hadn't been glowing, Lance thought, the wound on his face still bled occasionally, taking an incredibly long time to heal.

" _Keith,_ " he croaked as he turned over his fallen body, heavy and awfully dead-feeling under his hands. He reeled back when he saw the terrible burn that cut cruelly down the left side of his face, just missing his eye. Lance's eyes swung to the electrical bars and back down to Keith's pale face. _What did you do?_ "Jesus, Keith, wakeup. C'mon, buddy." When he still didn't respond, Lance took his face in his hands and shook, hoping to jiggle Keith's brain back into the waking world, because there was no way he could be dead, right?

_Right?_

Lance leaned in close, panic like a fist around his throat, and listened closely, feeling relief wash through him when Keith's breath fluttered against his face. _Alive._ But seriously fucked up. Also his breath smelt awful.

Lance supposed this had been another of Lotor's ploys: seperate them and fuck profusely with their brains, rendering them into this incoherent and deplorable mess they were now. Lance now understood why Kolivan had been so concerned about this guy.

In the end, Lance had taken Keith's head in his arms and held the other boy closely to his chest, he knew he was likely getting his own blood all over him, but his body felt like it was moments away from utter collapse. He needed Keith there close with him, a warmth against his cold, dead-feeling chest to anchor himself to this reality. With a bitter chuckle of amusement, he thought perhaps he was going to turn out like Slav.

It had been a day since then—Keith having woken up after a few hours of Lance holding him in the same position and for some reason hadn't moved from beneath Lance's hands—and they still hadn't spoken a word. They'd licked each other's wounds, Lance splashing water from the rusty tap over Keith's face while Keith sponged his abdomen. They'd both cried after that, silently, in their own corners, neither of them coming out with an explanation of what had happened to them. They were still in their corners, shivering and cowering like animals when the energy bars suddenly dropped away.

Both looked up, startled. And waited an entire minute until they realised no one was there to collect them. There were no guards, no Commanders and no Lotor. They dropped on their own. Keith instantly shot to his feet, stalking up to the edge of the cell and cautiously placing his foot on the other side. Lance saw his eyes widen before they darted to look down both ends of the corridor.

"It's empty. This is our chance." He jogged shortly back over to Lance, who had been clutching his stomach as it screamed with pain for reasons more than just his injuries. "C'mon, Lance. We can get out of here," he goaded, his hand darting down to catch Lance's wrist, _the same wrist_ , and pulling him to his feet. Lance, hesitating, followed Keith. He forcefully kept their speed to a crawl, to give Keith enough time to think his decisions through before rushing off. 

* * *

They were ten minutes in to rushing into another dead end when Lance realised they'd left Thace behind. _God, they were idiots._

"Keith," he hissed under his breath, as if anyone could hear them. "We forgot our damsel."

Keith, in front of him, answered with certainty. "We're not bringing him."

"What?" Lance pulled back on the wrist Keith held firmly in his hand, yanking it so he was forced to look back at Lance. He grimaced as he saw the painful blisters warp the skin over Keith's left side, thankfully his eye wasn't harmed, but it looked terribly painful and Lance wondered how Keith was ignoring it so easily. "Whatthefuck are you saying? That's the whole reason we're even here, right?"

Keith tugged back on Lance's wrist, but Lance stood his ground, his eyes seeking out Keith's dark ones. He wanted an answer first. Keith complied.

"It's not Thace."

"Okay, now elaborate," Lance said, gesturing his hand towards Keith.

"He woke up while you were gone and we spoke. Only," Keith hesitated, his eyes flickering around the room for a moment, catching the eerie purple glow inside them, before they met Lance's again—snapped together. "It wasn't him. Thace knows my name, but this thing only called me Red Paladin. And it _smiled_ at me." 

His eyebrows drawing together, Lance gave Keith a pointed look. "Maybe he was happy to see you? And he did get blown up so I wouldn't rule out memory loss."

"It wasn't that sort of smile," Keith insisted, dragging Lance forward as if to drive the message home. "He grinned. Imagine the way Lotor smiles." Lance would rather not. But he got the idea.

"You can't be absolutely sure, though. It doesn't matter how much I trust your instincts on this one, we can't take the risk of leaving him behind. _He's_ the whole reason we're here. I didn't just go through that shit for nothing—" Lance cut himself off, his mouth going dry when his stomach rolled and a hot flash of pain went through it. He felt dizzy for a moment, unhinged feelings snaking their way up his throat in a rush. 

He tipped forwards and Keith caught him by both elbows, Lance's own hands hooking around his upper arms. He dug his fingers into the pale flesh and shook Keith. "We're going back for him."

Keith's eyes, very close to his, wide and unfocussed, blinked and something like a haze dropped down over his face. He resigned himself, Lance registered with shock. "Alright."

 _Oh._ This is what Lotor meant. Keith really did listen to Lance, unquestionably, in this case, his faith being completely dropped into Lance's hands, like a precious object Keith was entrusting to him. And Lotor wanted him to _abuse_ it, wanted Lance to take this precious thing from Keith and break it apart, bit by bit, like breaking off the delicate fingers from one of those ceramic Japanese ladies his mother owned. Keith's achilles heel.

 _Is this because_ _of Shiro?_  Lance thought. He'd never thought of Keith as someone who relied on anyone else besides himself, thought he was the single most resolute person he'd ever encountered, besides Shiro, _because_ of Shiro. Which was why, regardless of his temper, Lance thought Keith _was_ capable of leading Voltron. He'd wanted to believe it because Shiro believed it. Looking at him now, though, Lance wasn't so sure he could. The way he clung to Lance, his eyes wide and dependant, he was completely at his wits end. And if what he said about Thace was true—he had no doubt that Keith, at least, thought it was, lying wasn't his forte—it was heavily affecting him. 

 _Guilt._ He'd wanted the chance of saving someone he thought he'd let die. 

It was an amazing discovery (honestly like being the first person to discover gold) to realise Keith was probably the most emotional person Lance had ever met.

He'd had no support structures growing up, apart from Shiro, probably. He didn't know how to cope with emotions like Lance, Hunk and Pidge did—had never been taught how to by parents or friends. He was never taught crying was healthy, or how to train himself to sort out his feelings, never been shown how to comfort, or be comforted in return. He didn't know how to care for himself. Shiro had been his crutch, but he wasn't a mother's gentle touch or a father's comforting words. And when Shiro disappeared, his crutch crudely ripped away from him—again—he became unbalanced, his emotions like a weight on his shoulders he couldn't compensate for. 

He wasn't emotionally independent like the rest of them; he was a mess. 

Though, Lance wasn't a good example at the moment. Poor Keith, having to rely on Lance of all people. 

But Lance was still mad at him, to an extent, so also, tough luck, buddy.

They had begun to move back the way they came, back to Thace, when Lance felt his mind latch onto something.

 _Lance?_ Allura whispered inside him. 

 _Hey, beautiful._ He tried for something light-hearted, needing a change in the atmosphere. 

_Are you in your cell?_

_No,_ _the energy bars dropped down and we're on our way back to get Thace out._

Her mind rumbled with confusion. _Back?_

_Keith seems to think it isn't Thace—that this is all for nothing. I'm not quite ready to believe that though. We're going back to make sure and then, hopefully, really praying to all the hope there is out there, finding an escape pod to get our asses out of here. You'll send Pidge out to collect us, right? She agreed?_

_Yes, but, Lance—_

_The bars dropped on purpose, I know. A trap. Luckily, we've dealt with like a trillion of those before. This will be no different,_ Lance said with a vigour he didn't feel. 

_I know, but Lance. Do you have any idea where you are right now? Lotor's ship, I mean._

_One: There are no windows in prison cells. Two: Space looks like someone spilt sugar over black paper to me, I can't tell shit._

Lance and Keith had come to an intersection of corridors and paused as they considered their options. Lance was leaning vaguely towards going left, but he'd lost track of where they were a long time ago. He had no clue if it would lead back to Thace. He went left regardless. 

He felt his mind tingle with Allura's irritation. _Shh. Remember how you were telling me the other day that Lotor is looking for Shiro, and he needs your help. I think I know why. Find a window, and see for yourself._

_God, I guess I'll just do that because it's so easy amongst this maze of plain walls. Like I'm gonna fin—oh look, I found one. I guess miracles do exist._

Keith grunted a confused noise when Lance began to slow as they came across the window _._ "Lance, it's space, you've seen it all before. We need to go. This was your idea," he hissed, annoyed, but didn't move a muscle. 

Lance's hand rose to pet the back of Keith's (now greasy) mullet. "Shh, Ugly Mullet, give me a tick." Keith crossed his arms with a huff and reluctantly gave Lance his tick, eyes running off to glare at some poor innocent wall. Lance approached the window, pressing his hand up to its cool surface, and saw exactly what he'd told Allura he would see. Spilt sugar. He wanted to snap at her for giving him such vague and risky instructions.

But then he saw something that had all the blood inside his veins freeze in its place, causing an entire, bodily jolt as he lunged further into the window. He pressed his nose in close enough that it smashed up painfully against the hard surface. His heartbeat inside his ears. Keith, confused, crept up to the window and looked through it with squinting eyes. "Wha—oh no," his voice fell flat. 

Oh no, indeed.

Lance recalled Lotor's words just after he'd been thrust to the ground yesterday.  _"To thank you for your presence here today, I'll give you this: When my father was the Black Paladin he discovered his bayard had a certain talent the others did not. Found out rather unceremoniously one day when he disappeared without a trace. Sounding familiar? Turns out the Black Paladin's bayard has the ability to teleport its wielder to whatever place they yearn for, as long as you could visualise it. After overhearing from that wretched planet you freed recently that you were missing the Black Paladin, my suspicions were spiked. Your friend is still very much alive. He's just gone and gotten himself lost. But don't fret, little Blue, we'll find him together."_

Lance felt like an idiot for not realising it before. It was so stupidly obvious that he wanted to smack his head against the window, watch the glass crack and his blood slither down to the ground. It's what he deserved.

 _"I thought perhaps you'd be stupid enough to fall for it. Like usual."_ Hunk predicting the future again.

Lance truly was _stupid._  

For in front of him, still a distance away, but frightfully real, was their sun. Earth a small silhouetted dot against it's startling brightness. It made total sense. If the Black Paladin's bayard transported its wielder to where ever they most desired, there was no other place Shiro would be. And Lotor wanted Keith and Lance to act as his tour guides. 

It was everything Lance had ever wanted, craved, fought and yearned for, these past few months in the worst, most catastrophic way possible 

* * *

Allura watched the flashing beacon indicating Lance's position with hard, glaringly tired eyes. _Earth._ They were so close to the Paladins' home it sent fear tingling up her spine. If the Galra moved to attack Earth _—_ Lance, Keith, Hunk, Pidge and Shiro _—_ Allura didn't think it was something any of them could handle. It was their entire lives down there. Allura would  _not_ allow it to happen. Over her dead body would that ever happen again. 

She sighed and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. Every time she moved her eyes too quickly from one flashing thing on the screen to the next, she felt her vision flicker and tilt, before quickly righting itself back up again. Cutting her hair had helped her sleep at nights, but only to an extent, and now that they were missing two more Paladins, sleep was more of a laughable idea than a possibility.

Allura wished she were there in Keith and Lance's place, despised always being _here_ at her controls, while the rest of them threw themselves into the fray. Felt an odd sense of loneliness and disconnection as they all fastened together, mind, body and spirit. And she was still _here_ , shouting over their comms like some incessant mother fretting over her children. Allura desperately wanted to be a Paladin.

More than anything. She ached to be there with them, beside them, their equal. But they still looked at her like an expensive vase to protect, like a  _Princess._ It's not how she wanted them to see her at all. 

Now Blue was giving her a chance. A responsibility, that if she proved successful, would allow her to become the Lion's new Paladin. Their equal. 

It was Lance. Blue wanted Allura to save Lance. 

_'From what?' she had silently asked the Lion above her days ago._

_She couldn't feel words with Blue like she did with Lance, but instead felt a deep rumble inside her chest, strong and adamant. Panicked, too._

_It was clear as day._

_'From himself.'_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks.
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin: Reallife me.  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean: Aesthetic me. 
> 
> Enjoy. xoxo


	12. Day Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith have an insightful discussion. Lance learns more than he bargained for. Pidge is determined.

The energy bars falling by themselves had been a ploy.  

With the intention of teasing the two captive Paladin's with false hope, Lotor had lowered them to give a show of power, and quite literally to show them where they were heading. Another way to break them.

As soon as they realised where they were—Earth—the guards seemingly slipped out of the walls themselves and surrounded both Keith and Lance. They surrendered peacefully. Keith, reluctant, but he followed his lead when Lance positioned his arms above his head. All the while his heart squeezed against his ribs as he thought about the capsule inside his neck. He couldn't risk a fight as it could easily be knocked, and he couldn't risk disobeying anyway because one of Lotor's Commanders would burst it themselves.

And ever the egocentric asshole he was, Lance valued his life dearly. He wanted to live, wanted to be able to walk back into his family's arms in the end, breathe Earth's air again, experience life in general. He wanted it all. So, he'd play Loto's part, just until they figured out an opening. Though, the likelihood of ever finding one was becoming increasingly slim. Lance had no room for excessive risk. He knew he wasn't integral to Lotor's intentions with Keith, just convenient. He'd dispose of Lance if he proved useless.

So, Lance would make himself useful.

Keith and Lance returned to their increasingly smelly cell with hung heads and panicky hands.

There were countless emotions filtering through Lance's system at the time. _Shiro. Shiro could be down there. I hope to fuck that Lotor doesn't mess with my planet. Shiro. Lotor. Lotor. Shiro. Earth. Earthearthearthearthearth._ But foremost, was the startling awareness of how close his family—the grass, the sky,  _the rain—_ all was. He could see it all again. Right there in front of him with his own eyes. All he wanted to do was throw himself off the ship and allow Earth to envelop him back into its embrace.

Lance had spent the next two days thinking non-stop about Earth. He knew logically speaking they'd be there by now and it was likely Lotor was biding his time because he knew it would leave Lance practically begging to see it again. The more you dangle something in front of someone, the more they want it, and the easier it is to force them to do your bidding. Lance would have done the same thing if he were Lotor.

 _NOPE. Don't think about that._ Lotor would murder people to get his way; Lance would not. There, he was still a good person. 

 _Are you?_  

"Hey, Lance," Keith's voice broke through Lance's thoughts. _Thank God._  

They very rarely spoke to each other nowadays. Lance too occupied with trying not to cry out as his gut continued to roll with agony and Keith too busy trying to balance all his overwhelming emotions whilst glaring at Thace on the other side of the corridor.

Thace only stared back with one unblinking golden eye. Lance was beginning to understand what Keith had meant. However, in his history classes back in the Garrison they'd been taught cases of soldiers from World War I having suffered from severe Shell Shock syndrome after their service ended. It turned men into panicked and dangerous shells of themselves, often experiencing memory loss and terrible tremors that wracked through their entire body. They'd watched a documentary about it and Lance had hardly been able to look as the screen displayed video after video of broken men shouting, screaming, shaking and crying, shells of themselves. It made sense, they went through awful, incompressible things.

It was possible Thace was suffering from some variation of it, but Lance wondered if he was merely denying the idea that they had come here for no reason.

"What's up?" Lance's voice sounded nowhere near as optimistic as he was hoping. He sat at one end of the bed while Keith sat at the other, annoying, for the fact that whenever one of them leaned back too far the bed would slide painfully into the other. The situation oddly reminded Lance of the time when they had to climb the elevator shaft together.      

Keith's rough voice floated over to him—whispering. "When Lotor took you away the other day, did he do anything to you?"

"You mean asides from slicing my abdomen open?"

"They were hardly even flesh wounds."

"Whatever, they could still get infected," Lance waved a hand, knowing Keith couldn't see it, be enjoying the familiarity of the gesture. 

"Did he do anything else to you?" Keith went on. 

Lance leaned back further, dropping his head onto the mattress as he felt the bed shift. "We had a lovely conversation about fashion, and society's habit of conditioning kids into growing up straight. We also touched on Shiro." Lance felt the bed jerk. He hadn't wanted to tell Keith this, had been cruelly keeping it from him. He wasn't sure why. His stomach had growled at him every time he opened his mouth to try. But now that they were here, so close to Earth, he thought Keith deserved to know, despite his stomach's protest. "Keith, Lotor thinks Shiro is on Earth, and I hate to agree with the furry, but so do I."

" _Why?_ " Keith strained out, his voice sounding strung out like a wet towel. 

"He said the Black bayard has the ability to teleport its wielder to wherever they desire most. All they have to do is visualise it," Lance explained calmly, grimacing when a fresh roll of cramps stabbed through his belly.

Keith was quiet for several moments, though Lance could hear his ragged breaths on the other end of the bed, filling the room up with his panic. It made Lance uncomfortable—wanted to hold his breath against it like it was a particularly bad odour.

"That's why we're here," Lance finished off. "Keith, where would Shiro go? On Earth, I mean. You knew— _know_ , Jesus, present tenths, Lance—him better than any of us. If you know where he might be—" 

An idea clicked into place inside Lance's head, so annoyingly obvious once again that he was tempted to tattoo the name 'idiot' across his forehead as a pre-warning to all those unfortunate enough to meet him.

With his feet skidding against the floor, Lance turned and pulled himself over the bed to crawl down the opposite end. His head hanging over Keith's, who was yet to notice his appearance, he said, "I'm not sure if you figured it out yet, but Allura and I can talk inside each other's heads." Keith startled in his place with a yelp and tilted his head back to glare at Lance. "Just a side effect of being soulmates and all, I guess. Anyway, if you tell me where Shiro is before Lotor tries to pick our brains then I can tell Allura, she can send Pidge to go down and get him first. With Green's cloaking capabilities Lotor's instruments won't be able to pick her up."

Lance was grinning down at Keith, his hair hanging down limply (depressingly oily) over his face. His stomach was still in pain, but he could ignore it for the moment as he felt a foreign sureness flood his system, automatically numbing any of his pain. It was the same feeling he had on the Balmera, when he managed to formulate a sound enough plan he and Keith could execute. His nervousness and humiliation from the Nyma debacle was washed away when the plan clicked into his mind. And Keith had _smiled_ at him, the same way he did after they defeated Sendak. He was smiling the same way now, head tilted back directly under Lance's as his eyes eased into something kind and inviting. 

He still looked deathly pale and thin, but his eyes had a slight spark in them again—cracked lips smirking to the side. 

Here they were both grinning at each other now, like comrades again. They could stop Lotor. Though it did nothing to help their situation and would likely end with at least Lance dying via deadly toxin, but it didn't matter if it meant they could get Shiro back. Lance would figure out another way to survive. With Shiro back with the team, they would find a way. Lance had strategically left out saying anything to Keith about poison capsules and his evil stomach. It wasn't necessary for him to know. 

"You're brilliant at times, you know that, right?" Keith said. Apparently believing Lance could actually talk to Allura in his head. A surprise. 

Lance scoffed. "As if, I should have thought of it ages ago." 

Keith shook his head, arms crossed in that signature way of his. "I didn't think of it." 

"Yeah, well you've got a burn the size of a ruler on your face. Maybe you have brain damage? Also I never told you about Allura, so?" Lance felt heat rush to his cheeks and he glanced away, eyes resting on the opposite wall. He was so utterly fed up with walls. If he ever got out of here he never wanted to see one again.  

"You'll be good for Red," Keith said softly, his voice catching at the end. Lance's eyes shot back to him, his arms beginning to tire from holding up his weight, so he slipped down onto his forearms, his head besides Keith's resting on the mattress.

"What's up with that, by the way? I thought ice and fire were supposed to be mortal enemies or something. Like Daenerys and Jon Snow."

"They're not enemies. They'll totally be teaming up in the end," Keith corrected, his hand gesturing in the air. 

"You watch it?!"

"And you obviously _don't_." 

"Shut up. After Mr. Robb HottyMcStark died I couldn't stand to watch on. Anyway, back on topic. Red?" Lance redirected the conversation, his head turned sideways on his arms, feeling the slight tickle of Keith's hair on his nose. He pulled in a potential sneeze.  

Keith's eyes slipped shut as he said, "You'll balance her out. She's like me, right? Rushes into situations without thinking, with you at the helm she'll learn restraint and good skills."

Lance, genuinely shocked by Keith's words, said nothing. He could see the flutter of Keith's eyelids as his eyes moved underneath. A quiet couple of minutes passed, whereby Lance was convinced Keith had fallen asleep, and him just watching like a creep, until his eyes flew open again. They did so quickly, causing Lance to flinch back and pretend he wasn't staring.

"Shiro. If he's anywhere on Earth, he'll be in the shack I took you guys to the first night we met," Keith explained, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"We met before, you just completely ignored my existence," Lance pointed out, no longer offended, but insisted on pretending he was anyway.

"If it's any consolation, my Math teacher showed up at my dorm one night demanding my homework and I had no idea who she was. I didn't notice anyone back in those days." Lance saw the slow rise and fall of Keith's chest, as if he was trying to fit an entire memory into that one breath, trying to fill himself up with it.

"Except for Shiro," Lance said. 

"Except for Shiro," he agreed.

Lance, feeling a strange nauseous sensation clinging to his stomach, different from the constant cramps, asked, "Why is the shack important to him?"  

Keith's face split into a smile, content and whimsical. Lance didn't think he was capable of making such expressions. 

"It was the place we kissed." 

—Lance's breath halted halfway up his throat as his heart  _plummeted_ right through the bed, through the floor, through the entire ship and out into endless void surrounding them. It was the most bizarre sensation Lance had ever experienced in his life. He could feel his face pulling into a twisted expression and asked himself, _what the hell is this?_ Once his breath finally made it out of his mouth he quickly picked up the conversation with the first thing he could come up with. 

"You're _gay_?" 

"Is that an issue?" Defensive. _Good._

" _No!_ I just didn't pick you for it—or Shiro, for that matter," Lance rushed. The last thing he wanted Keith to think was that he was some kind of bigot.

Keith's eyebrows creased together—pain. "He's not, that's the catch. He's straight as they come, but he still let me kiss him, because he knew what it meant to me. He made it clear that we could never be a thing; what with his rank and his  _straightness_ and all." Keith sounded venomous at this, pained. "But it didn't stop me from still wanting him." 

Why was every word Keith said a bullet straight to Lance's chest? Why was this  _hurting_? 

It wasn't—

It just _wasn't_. Keith had treated him like garbage before because of his own miserable crush on Shiro. But Lance, despite all things, was someone who empathised with people. If given a good enough reason. He'd told the truth, though: he wouldn't forgive Keith until they had _both_ made it out of here. He wasn't forgiving Keith over a sob crush story, he merely understood. You could understand without forgiving. 

Lance turned his head away from Keith, the sick feeling in his stomach rising to his throat and if he'd had any food inside him he might have thrown up. Instead he bit his lip and mourned the empty feeling inside his chest. 

 _Idiot._ For not seeing it, he was an absolute idiot. All those shoulder touches, all those looks, all those hugs (though one sided it all was). They were all so obvious. Keith was completely caught up in everything Shiro, and Shiro was nothing if not a gentlemen about it, which probably made it that much harder for Keith to let go. Shiro was just an extremely difficult person not to fawn over. 

 _Well,_ Lance thought bitterly,  _at least we're both suffering the same thing._ But Lance didn't want— _right?_

His mouth mashed against his arm, Lance muttered. "I'll tell Allura the plan." 

* * *

Pidge sat through Allura's explanation silently, feeling a flicker of a flame inside her chest.  _Hope,_ she calculated it as. 

Shiro was most likely alive _and_ most likely on Earth, which they were only a couple galaxies away from now, on Lotor's trail. They could bring him home. Ignoring the fact they'd still be missing the entire right side of Voltron—for potentially a redundant reason if what Allura said about Thace was correct—but they'd have  _Shiro_ to lead them this time. No need for Lion hopping, no need for Keith to lead, no need for Allura to abandon her command post. Everything could go back to normal. 

"You must be the one to collect and extract Shiro," Allura instructed Pidge. "I'll send Kolivan down with you in case you run into any trouble along the way. But if we manage to move quickly enough, all should work out smoothly." 

"I'm still not buying this whole mind-talking thing you claim to have going with Lance at the moment," Hunk, unhelpfully, butt in. Pidge sent him a flat stare, completely over this sulking of his.

"Well, I suppose you'll have to trust me either way," Allura snapped. "I know you're upset with Lance, however, this isn't about if you trust your friend, it's about trusting your  _comrade._ And if you're suggesting I'm lying to you, then I'd propose you find something more productive to do than simply doubting me." 

Hunk, sitting slumped in his Paladin seat, looked up to Allura at her post with regretful eyes. "Sorry, Princess."

"Alright." Her shoulders slumped, and Pidge couldn't help thinking that there was something about this mission Allura was unsatisfied with, it looked like weights had been attached to her arms and were pulling down her entire body. Pidge watched her in her pink Paladin suit with calculative eyes, remembered how proud she had looked when they all gawked at her in it for the first time. _Interesting._  

Pidge had been feeling better since her talk with Lance in the kitchen, as if the way he held her somehow squeezed out all the darkness swirling around inside. All the guilt and regret suddenly significantly less heavy. Lance had been extremely kind to her that day, in spite of her never asking for it. 

She regretted not being there for him when he needed it.

She'd just been so shocked after seeing him shove Allura that she'd automatically responded with anger, defending her only female friend on the ship out of instinct.

Pidge had hung outside his bedroom door that night, pacing a circle around the entrance, deliberating if walking in there to check on him would be a good idea, feeling her stomach tying knots around itself again and again. She should have gone inside, she realised later, when Allura had informed them of what Lance was planning, should have held him like he did for her, because it might've been the last chance she'd ever get to.

Lotor was cruel. Any halfwit could read it plainly on his face. And when he'd learned that Lance was coming along with Keith, his face had lit up with the most disturbing grin Pidge had ever seen in her life. A kid learning that he had his sister's permission to rip off all her Barbie Doll heads.

_"The Blue Paladin, too? What a treat. It will be a pleasure to return him to you after I'm finished with him, a shell of the boy you once knew. He will be easy to break."_

Pidge sincerely doubted that; she was well aware of how strong Lance was. He protected Coran from an explosion with his own body. He woke out of a coma to free Pidge from Sendak's grasp. He held himself together after nearly being blown from an airlock. He'd saved two entire planets with Hunk. He freed Slav with a precision shot in Beta Traz. All the while suffering from homesickness so severe at times Pidge found him hunched over the toilet. And he _smiled_ the entire time, as if it were no big deal. 

Lotor was wrong, Lance would be incredibly difficult to break, even with the way he was now. But it wasn't impossible.

Pidge, the flame burning hotter inside her chest as she prepared to depart, Kolivan at her side, was determined to make sure she'd get to hold Lance like he held her at the end of all this.  

* * *

Lotor came to collect Lance and Keith that day, the ever sickening grin on his face.

"Congratulations, Paladins. You're getting out of here. You've got a mission." 

_Well, fuck._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> This will not turn into a Sheith story!!! It's a plot point, not and end point. I won't tell you endgame, (I don't have an endgame at this point lol, everyone could die tbh (I WON'T DO THAT)) but it's not Sheith. I just think it's an interesting idea to explore in terms of Keith's character. Also I'm a sucker for unrequited love so *shoulder shrug* 
> 
> That being said, I like all ships in the show. 
> 
> Instagram: @aBluePaladin: Reallife me.  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean: Aesthetic me. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy xoxoxo


	13. Day Twenty-three: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor, forever an ass, continues to be an ass. Thace is not Jeff from the Wiggles. Something goes bang.

Lance sincerely hoped Pidge was hurrying her ass along as he pulled on the uncomfortable flight-suit over his stiff limbs, because she was running out of time. Keith, to Lance's left, looked like he was having about just as much trouble as him, his arm twitching as he pulled it though the sleeve. Lance had winced when Keith forced the chest plate over his head as it dragged painfully against his burn. He hid it well, but Lance heard the other boy whine with agony when finished.

They were in a kind of Galra equivalent of a changing room, where they had been previously fitted for their suits by the ponytailed Commander. Lance had attempted flirting with her in order to create some kind of distraction for Keith to snatch her weapon. However, when she'd instantly responded to Lance's advances with a hand sliding up his thigh and the other moving to his neck, pressing slightly over the capsule causing him to gasp, his charming words died on his tongue. Over her shoulder, Keith looked absolutely murderous. 

"This thing is giving me a wedgie, do you think it's too late to swap for a bigger size?" Lance asked as Keith zipped up the back of his suit slowly, Lance feeling the hesitation in his hands by the way they shook slightly. It wasn't fear, that would be unlike him. It was anger, back again in its full and devastating force. 

The remarkable thing about Keith was no matter how destructively he broke down, he could reign himself in enough to at least remember how to act like an asshole when needed. 

"I wouldn't risk wearing Lotor's patience down anymore than necessary," he responded, patting Lance on the nape of his neck when he was done. They swapped positions and repeated the same for Keith.

Then, there they stood, all snug in their new fancy Galra gear. It was all sharp points and dark shadows with bursts or orange and purple markings, and if the implications of them wearing it weren't so depressing, Lance might have thought he looked extremely badass in the getup. It was at least more comfortable than their foul body-suits that they had been festering in for the last five days and Lance had nearly wept with joy when they were shoved into the showers to clean themselves.

Being held at gun point by a drone and being forced to shower _together_ with Keith had kind of dulled the excitement, though. Even worse, they were given one bar of soap and two minutes to get clean so there was no avoiding seeing and brushing against each other's _everything_ as they hastily washed themselves. They'd both been red in the face with shame afterwards, refusing to meet each other's eyes for the following fifteen minutes. 

Lance had wanted to puke with self-consciousness at the time.  

When finished changing they were collected and escorted to the bridge, where they found Lotor in his signature lazy pose in his seat, legs crossed and chin cupped in his hand. Lotor was the kind of guy who always looked like he'd gotten exactly what he wanted before he'd even taken it, however, now, his eyes were positively glowing with excitement as he looked over the two Paladins with a lazy interest.

"Don't you feel at home now, little half-breed? Here with your own kind?" Lotor said slowly.

Keith bit his cheek, his eyes turning into dark slits, but didn't say anything. Lance had warned him: Don't take the bait when Lotor offers it to you. He was taking it on board thankfully. Lotor seemed to notice this as well—Keith's restraint—as his hand gestured to the tall Commander beside him. She responded swiftly, her heavy feet pounding against the floor as she walked over to Keith and Lance. She held out two objects to them.

Two _weapons_. One rifle and one sword—slick, dark and Galra looking, but as clear as day. 

Lance's eyes shot between her and the weapons with the utmost suspicion. Her face was carefully blank though, a perfect solider, not giving anything away. Behind her, Lotor said, "Take them. My gift to you both for your cooperation these last few days."

Lance's brain was screaming at him that this was a trap, but he was also wary of how close the Commander's giant fist was to his neck—the capsule inside. If he took it, he was armed, and a threat to them all. Why would they risk it? If he didn't take it— _well_ —the thought of choking to death on toxin sounded less than pleasant. His hand reached for the rifle.

The Commander shook her head. Lance rose an eyebrow and shifted his hand over the sword. She nodded.

 _Okay._ Lance understood at least a fraction of it now. Lotor knew their strengths, and as a result, their consequent weaknesses. He understood their team dynamics, which was...concerning. Something to fuss over later. He took the sword in his hand, feeling the cool metal bite through the material of his glove, like a snake sinking its fangs into his hand and wrapping itself around his wrist; a weapon and a threat.

Keith's hand shot out lightning fast and took the rifle in his arms, shifting it to his shoulder and taking aim. At Prince Lotor.

"Keith! What are you doing?" Lance shrieked, never prepared for when the Red Paladin went all arbitrary and utterly reckless on him. It was like trying to prepare for being struck by lightning. Just, not possible.

_Deep sigh._

Lotor and the Commander didn't even react though, only watched Keith with lazy, interested gazes. The ponytailed Commander giggled behind her hand. Lance's brows drew together, his spine tingling with unease. They should be reacting, drawing their own weapons and subduing the Paladin to his knees, attacking Lance for his teammate's misbehaviour. But they didn't even twitch. Lotor merely grinned from down the end of the barrel, sharp teeth glinting wickedly. 

His eyes swished to Lance and in his other hand revealed a familiar tool. 

The gun-like thing used to implant the capsule in Lance's neck. His taloned thumb flicked up some kind of cap to reveal a button, which he rested the pad on lightly. 

Lance's body when numb with pins and needles and felt his entire face fall as he understood what Lotor's goal was here. Could it be triggered by remote, too? This was a test, for Lance.  

"Keith," Lance repeated, drawing in closer and reaching out a hand to rest it on Keith's forearm, fingers deathly tight. "Stop."

Keith's eyes flew to him accusingly, his hands tightening on the rifle so much they were beginning to shake violently, causing the weapon to shift from its intended target unsteadily. Lance knew for a fact how deadly it was to take an unsteady shot with a sniper rifle in a situation like this.

"Why didn't you take her out? If you'd done that then we'd only have one other person to actually worry about," Keith growled, the burn on his face twisting into something ugly as he glared heatedly at Lance.

Lance didn't loosen his grip. "How could I have followed a plan I didn't even know existed?" he said carefully, his eyes slipping back to Lotor's hand on the button again, moving in slow circles teasingly over the top. Lance swallowed hard. 

"It's us! It's our thing. It shouldn't matter if we have opposite weapons, we should be able to react accordingly." Lance saw Lotor's finger press lightly down on the button. 

He wrenched his hand forward, pulling Keith's arm sharply along with it which caused the weapon to fall the the floor with at thud. " _Keith_ ," he hissed, pulling the Red Paladin in close. "It was a stupid plan and you know it. It's unrealistic to think I knew what you wanted me to do. It was unfair. Now _stand down_." 

Keith's mouth trembled like he was about to argue and, ignoring the smirking Prince behind him, Lance moved both of his hands to Keith's shoulders, like he'd done so many times before, and dug his fingers into the gap between his armour. He shook him. Desperate, panicked, feeling his gut clenching and unclenching. Selfish. He knew what he should have done; should have backed Keith up and driven the blade into the Commander before them, who was now stepping back into her previous place. He should have done exactly as they had done in the past. But he hadn't. 

He was frightened.

His neck itched where the capsule sat just under the surface.

" _Please,_ " Lance tried in a last-ditch effort to convince his friend. Then, just to drive the knife home, his stomach slithering and coiling in tight, he added, "This won't help Shiro." 

Who knew Keith's hopeless crush on Shiro could come in useful like that. 

Of course, all going well, Pidge was well on her way by now so this honestly wouldn't make a difference for Shiro. But it was life or death for Lance. Who was selfish and desperate to live, even if it meant dragging Keith down to his knees with him. 

Keith's head dropped, his clenched fists relaxing by his sides, withdrawing and allowing Lance to use him for his own devices. Lance blew out a breath, feeling awful, but also awfully  _alive._ Which was, you know, a preference of his. When Lance looked back to Lotor, the (remote-gun-thing?) had disappeared and he was smiling with false politeness down at them. He clapped his hands together. 

"How delightful to see my new subordinates working together so diligently. I hope you don't mind me switching around your preferred weapons, however, it's always useful to work on your weaknesses, right? And as fully fledged soldiers of the new Galra Empire, there's no better time to start. You both will prove to be delightful assets." 

"As if we'd ever work for you," Keith spat around Lance's shoulder. 

"You already are but I can see why you might be confused," Lotor waved a hand, all flourish and theatricality. "Now pick up your weapon and prepare yourself for a debrief. You'll be leaving very soon." 

"To go where?" asked Lance, one eyebrow raised. 

"To Earth," Lotor grinned. 

* * *

Thace sat in their cell unmoving.

It took more than their fair share of energy to keep this up—this form, these injuries and this voice—a gigantic stretch of effort to remain convincing. When the Paladins had finally been collected for the first...real test, Thace had been so drained of all their energy that they couldn't even transform back straight away. The energy it took just to shift back alone was terrible enough. So Thace sat there silently, slowly allowing one charade after the other slip away.

They winced as their eye slipped back open, the swelling slowly falling away.

It had been a terrible five days for them, wearing that traitor's skin, putting on a convincing show for the Paladins non-stop. Finally being given permission to mess with the Red Paladin's head was a blessing, a relief to finally break away from this pathetic character. Even more delicious had been watching the two Paladins in their cell argue, cry, whine, sleep, eat, shit, piss and _plan._

They were fools for making plans in front of Haggar. They'd signed their own friend's death warrant.    

* * *

Keith sat at the controls of the fighter jet, his hand hovering over the throttle, jittery and unsteady. He closed his eyes against the terrible wrongness of the situation slithering through his body.

He'd spent all this time trying to convince everyone— _himself_ —that he wasn't the Galra the universe feared. He tried so hard, and had been hurt deeply when Allura rejected him initially, had felt his chest cave in every time she glared at him with teary eyes. Like he'd betrayed her.

Though she'd seen her wrongdoings and corrected them, profusely, making it up to him with the utmost kindness. Sitting with him when he felt his lowest when Shiro first disappeared, bringing him breakfast in the mornings, apologising every time she got the chance. She was an extremely good person. 

Apart from that debacle, the rest of his team had accepted him instantly: Shiro with a comforting hug, causing Keith's heart to flutter, Hunk with a kind pat on the back, Pidge with a punch on the arm and casual grin. Lance had been slightly different, he wasn't as instantly accepting as the others, had taken a bit of extra time come up to Keith and ruffle his hair and laughing out a familiar, "Doesn't change the fact your mullet is hella ugly." His eyes had looked conflicted, but he'd accepted Keith. It was all he could ask. 

He was _accepted_. By his family, his brilliant mess of a family. But now here he was, covered in Galra armour, inside a Galra ship serving a Galra Prince, like—like a _Galra._ He wanted to tear the uniform off himself, rip apart the ship and shoot the Prince in the face. Wanted to see the hole burn through his skull and see those purple eyes stop laughing at him. 

Lance sat down beside him in the co-pilot seat with a heavy sigh. Keith heard the air whistling through his teeth as he clenched his face tightly against something, saw his hand move to his stomach. Keith's concern spiked. 

"Are your wounds bothering you?" Lance shook his head, leaning forwards in his seat and flicking a few controls. "You sure?" Keith insisted. "Maybe Lotor had poison on his claws or something?" 

He saw the way Lance's eyes widened a fraction at his words, but was quick to carefully pull his expression back into that familiar carefree one he so often put up. Keith had gradually been getting better at reading Lance and was starting to notice how to catch his expression unguarded. Questions. The more Keith threw questions at him the more Lance found it harder to keep up his facade.

Something was bothering Lance, and it was more than just the predicament they were in. And it definitely had to do with when Lotor whisked him away for a chat. He thought back to the way Lance's face had gone pale and sick when the Commander had dragged her filthy hand up his thigh earlier. Bit back a growl as he thought about the ten ugly claw marks that Lance had come back with that day. Terrible and hideous looking on his brown skin when Keith had pulled back the under-suit to clean the them. He regretted not saying anything comforting to Lance that day, despised his inability to console the clearly distressed boy.

There was a faint whirring noise as the hanger door began to open.

"Did Lotor touch you like that?" Keith asked, words feeling hot and painful like bile in his throat. "Like to bitch from eariler?"

Lance's blue eyes shot over to Keith, his pupils tiny and panicked. But he said, "He didn't."

"But the marks on your stomach? You're not hiding anymore like those, are you?"

Lance laughed. "You literally just saw me butt naked like an hour ago, I think you'd know if there were anymore."

Keith hissed and turned back to the window. "Not like I was actively trying to _look._ I'm not some sick fuck." 

"Checking out another person doesn't make you a sick fuck. It's normal. _Human._ "

"I just said I _wasn't_  doing that," he rebutted, his hands finally lowering on the controls as the door opened completely. Keith felt a shrill of nervousness pass through him.  _Shiro. Earth._ They were both so dizzyingly close.  

"Trust me, I know," Lance said, with surprising venom. Keith glanced over to see the Paladin glaring viciously down at the controls, arch of his neck exposing the obvious bump of his spine at his nape. It was worryingly prominent, as well as the hallows of Lance's cheeks. One of his hands was still clenching his stomach...

"Seriously, Lance, if something is wrong we should—"

"I said it's fine!" Lance shouted, his voice going hoarse. "Would you just go already? We've got to look convincing for Mr Purpleassfuck."

Keith complied, firing up the engines and slowly hovering them towards the exit, where he could see the faint glow of Earth's atmosphere. It almost made him gasp. Lance actually _did_ gasp.

His eyes, previously narrow slits and hard to read, were now wide with an abstract range of emotions. Keith watched the reflection of Earth in Lance's eyes and held his breath.

The image of Earth inside those blue eyes felt like it belonged there.

Keith thought he might as well come out with it now. "We have control of a fighter jet and we're outside the battle cruiser, Lance. We can escape now," he tried, watching Lance's reaction closely. Every attempt Keith had made at escaping had been impeded by Lance, who simply gave him a semi solid reason why it was a bad idea and suddenly Keith was incapable of arguing against him. It kept happening, Lance talking him out of things, things he thought would have worked well, that he'd learned from Shiro and _Lance_. But Lance kept stopping him.

It was no different this time, as Lance shook his head and gave him _another_ plausible reason why it was a bad idea. 

"I'm the best fighter pilot around," Keith argued. "I can get us out of here in no time. Pidge will do the drop for Shiro. We don't have to stay," he insisted, but it was pointless when Lance's face looked like it was made of stone. Keith hated that look on his face, it was like looking at a completely different person.

"I said no, Keith." His voice was deadly, eyes tightening, pinching the tired skin around them into thin lines. His hand moved to cover Keith's on the throttle and pushed forward, increasing the speed of their descent down to earth, Keith, suddenly unable to fight him, gave in. Like he always did these days. As they watched Earth quickly envelop them on both sides they became aware of a harsh booming noise behind them, gradually becoming louder and louder. Closer.

Without warning a massive fireball of flaming metal shot down past them at twice their speed. Keith swore and fought to keep control of the jet as he swivelled out of the way. Lance had risen out of his seat in fright.

They both looked out the right side of the window just in time to see the Green Lion collide with incredible force into Earth's surface with an awful _crash_. Keith's heart dropped out of his chest and Lance cried out one name.

" _PIDGE!"_    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> I have to work on a presentation for uni tomorrow so I'm just gonna go cry now. 
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin: Reallife me.  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean: Aesthetic me. 
> 
> Also Season 3 is in like a couple days? EXCITED? I think it comes out on Saturday for me (Australian logic) so I'll be working most of the day :-( *HIDES FROM SPOILERS* 
> 
> xoxoxo


	14. Day Twenty-Three: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk receives a wake up call. Lance. LANCE. Keith? Lotor has plans.

"Pidge? Do you copy?" Allura repeated, her voice turning frantic and her hair an utter mess as her hands continually dragged their way through with panic. And they _shook._  Hunk didn't think he'd ever recalled a time where Allura's hair was a mess, or a time where her hands were anything but perfectly steady. 

So it was bad. Extremely bad. 

Hunk stood by her side at her controls with his heart in his throat, feeling like he'd suddenly had ice water thrown over him. Pidge's Lion had gone dead five minutes ago, suddenly cutting her off mid-sentence and leaving behind hollow silence. Hunk had choked out a broken noise when she didn't click back in with some snide comment about the shitty communications.

This wasn't a fault in communications or signals or _any_ of those much more preferable outcomes, no, something had gone spectacularly wrong.

" _Pidge, please,"_ Allura pleaded, her arms leaning bodily onto her controls, knuckles turning white with the force she was gripping them. She was staring at the screen Pidge's face had been on moments ago like she was looking for a ghost. "Kolivan?" she tried again. " _Someone._ "

Nothing. 

In front of them, his face devastated, Coran said, "We have absolutely no connection with the Green Lion. If there were any interference with her entrance to Earth's atmosphere, the sophisticated communication assets Pidge added to her Lion would have kicked in. It means the Green Lion is...gone." Coran's voice wavered at the last word, his head bowing over as he lowered himself to his knees. From behind, Hunk saw the older man count his fourth finger off his hand. 

"She can't be  _gone_ gone, right?" Hunk tried, turning to Allura, leaning forwards to peer desperately into the Princesses' drawn face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, long lashes feathered out across her cheeks and Hunk could see the faint glimmer of tears underneath, threatening to spill over. When she didn't answer Hunk continued with, "It just means the Lion is offline. Pidge could be fine for all we know. Don't tell me you're giving up before we even know for sure," he said with a sudden viciousness, annoyed that the two Alteans were giving up so easily.

Hearing his voice thin out like that, with the uncharacteristic viciousness, Allura's eyes flew open again, her multi-coloured eyes slingshotting to him. A single tear tracked down the side of her face, but her eyes turned resolute, hardening into that familiar determined expression of hers when things were at their worst. When she spoke, her voice was the same as it had been when she spurred them on in those final moments against Zarkon.

"You're right. We can't give up yet based on circumstantial assumptions," she began. " _You_ are the last Paladin now. And as the leg of Voltron it's your job the rebuild this team. Bring back Pidge—bring back Shiro, bring back Keith and bring back _Lance_. Their fates are in your hands. These are your orders."

Hunk stared at her in awe, his mouth dry and the continuous thought of _Ican'tdothisIcan'tdothisIcan'tdothis_ and _cowardcowardcowardcoward,_ streaming through his mind.

He was only one Paladin. There was no way—

"This is your task. You cannot fail."

Used to doubting himself—used to it riding on his back like a fucked up demon version of Yoda, heavy and exhausting—Hunk was ready with a retort on his tongue, but cut himself off when a thought struck. Lance's terrible words floated over him, taunting and painful with every syllable he spat out, but...if he were to deny Allura here and now, it would only serve to prove Lance's point. He'd be a coward. 

He couldn't afford to be a coward anymore. 

He needed to be his entire team at once. Shiro's resoluteness, Keith's swiftness, Pidge's wits and Lance's aim.

It was time he stepped up to the challenge for once. He nodded firmly at Allura.

"Good. Get to your Lion, Warrior." 

* * *

The sound of Lance's voice being torn out of his throat had Keith's hands flinching on the controls. Lance saw it at the corner of his eyes. But only for a moment before he was funnelling his vision in on the terrible indent in the earth the Green Lion had made. Dust, flames and shards of metal catapulting up in its wake. It did not get up. Didn't even shift from its spot. Keith instantly angled the jet towards its direction, picking up speed as his hand pushed forwards on the throttle, hard. 

_Pidge._

Was this Lance's fault? Had he done this to her? 

He fell back into his seat like he'd lost every bone in his body. He felt absolutely empty—scattered and dizzy. Like he couldn't catch all the parts of himself. His breath came out in hoarse pants, tearing up his throat like knives. This was his idea. If she were dead—

_Pleasenopleasenopleasenopleaseno._

How did Lotor  _know_? Because there was no other reason why the Green Lion had fallen. Lotor was the only other one in the sky. 

When Lance's stomach squeezed tightly, pulling at all his organs and muscles in a painful roll of agony, he gave out a cry, hunching over himself. His hands flew to his abdomen. "Lance!" he heard Keith's voice, but it was hazy, like it was coming from underwater. He could vaguely feel a hand on the back of his neck, cold and clammy, but calming against the terrible heat of his skin. There was a continuous puff of air close to his ear and he thought that words might have been coming with it but his ears felt like someone had clogged them full of cotton wool. He thought perhaps the jet had stopped moving.

Had they landed? Were they hovering?

The hand on the back of his neck was squeezing, the points where the fingers dug in like five live wires hooked directly into his nerves. His entire body shuddered and rolled forwards, the hand followed him until his forehead hit the control panel. He couldn't feel the pain. He realised his lips were moving, forming words, when he saw surface beneath him fog up with his hot breath. " _Nononononononononononononononono._ " Again and again, his heartbeat erratic and painful in his chest as it kept time with his words. "Did I do this to her?" he suddenly broke his constant stream with. His gut felt like it had been turned inside out and he groaned a pitiful noise of agony.

The weight at his nape slid up the back of his head, fingers combing through his sweaty hair and slipping around to cup his cheek, lifting Lance's head from the control panel. Another hand came up to rest on the other side of his face. Between the tears clouding his vision and the dizziness, Lance could only just make out the serious expression on Keith's face. What was up with them? It seemed that one couldn't exist without the other being a complete fucked up mess at the same time. It kept flipping between the two of them. Keith, Lance, Keith, Lance, Keith Lance. At least one of them had to be suffering at all times. This was their thing. 

Keith brought Lance's face in very close and he whimpered as the movement caused his stomach to slither.

"You didn't do anything to her. If you just calm down I'll pilot us down she we can get her out. But you need to breathe, otherwise you'll pass out." Behind the haziness of Lance's vision, he saw the deep crinkles between Keith's eyebrows, the frenzied glimmer inside his eyes, the tremble in his lips. "Can you do that?"

When Lance began to nod, ready to draw himself together again, a new voice made itself present inside his head.

 _Allura?_ he called out, but he couldn't feel the familiar catch of their minds whenever they made the invisible connection. Reached out and felt nothing but silence, whistling through his fingers like air. He realised why when the voice repeated itself.

"Dear Blue, is something the matter?" Lotor's voiced slithered in over his comm, slimy and awful. Lance was going to throw up. It was too much. He searched Keith's expression to see if he'd heard Lotor as well, but his face hadn't changed from its strained, pale horror. If he'd heard Lotor's too, his face would have twisted up into that scowl it always did. It was just for him, then. And Lotor, the sick fuck, knew what exactly the matter was.

He always knew. 

"Your jet has stopped moving. I'm growing concerned that you might have forgotten our agreement. You know my thumb is awfully comfortable here on this button, it's so temping just to give it a little squeeze." Horrendous alarm rang through Lance's body, his breath catching in his throat. "I know it might be hard, but I gave you a mission and I expect you not to deviate. Don't allow my little half-breed to become distracted, alright? Let that thing within you hiss inside his ear. I'm trusting you. Don't you want to live? You're so close to your family, it would be awful to die now. The mental anguish might even be more terrible than the actual pain of the poison. I truly hope I don't have to find out." 

There was a lump inside Lance's throat and no matter how much he swallowed against it, thickly, his tongue feeling like a slug in his mouth, it wouldn't disappear. _His family._ Did Lotor know where they were too? Would they be his next target if Lance disobeyed him? Even if Lance suddenly decided his life wasn't worth it anymore, Lotor just brought his family into the mix.

"Don't answer, by the way, dear Blue. Can't have your beloved finding out you're using him like this, can we?" 

"LANCE! Snap out of it! We need to get down there. Are you with me or not?" Keith's voice broke through, as he heard Lotor click off their private comm. The hands on his face shaking him, and then suddenly one of them left only to come down hard across his cheek, sending Lance's face snapping to the side. Tears stung his eyes. Then the cool hands were back on his face, one of them soothing over the painful spot where he'd been hit. "I'm sorry, but you looked like you were falling out of it. I need to _here_. Are you with me _or not_?" Keith repeated, eyes searching Lance's face desperately.

"Or not," Lance responded.

"What?"

Fighting to keep his voice steady, likely failing miserably, Lance said, "We have to leave Pidge and get Shiro instead. Like Lotor said."

Keith flinched back, his hands leaving Lance's face in an instant, causing the Blue Paladin to fall forwards a fraction, not realising he'd been leaning so heavily into the hands. Keith looked at him with terrible, catastrophic betrayal. Confusion was swimming in there, too. But Keith was Keith—always reacted with anger first and foremost. It was just natural to him.

"What the hell are you saying, you moron?" Keith snarled. "Don't tell me you're going to abandon your friend to do what Lotor says. He has no control of us down here, so why the hell are you still following his rules?" Keith's voice was steadily rising in pitch, his cheeks turning a furious red (ironic, really for the _Red_ Paladin) and Lance struggled not to shrink under his words. "We're  _free_ but you're still doing what he wants. What, did he offer you something? A hot alien girlfriend, money, fame, your old life? Why the _fuck_ are you suddenly going to abandon our comrade? Our  _friend_? Where's the real Lance?"

He didn't know. He had absolutely no clue—couldn't answer that if he tried. Where the old him had been left behind and this new and terrible thing took its place, he _didn't know_.

He didn't understand the things he was doing anymore. The old Lance would have let himself be poisoned to death by now. This new, selfish him was desperate to live though. And he could feel the thing in his stomach hiss as his neck began to itch. A reminder. Lotor could press that button at any moment and Lance would bite the dust in only a couple minutes. Pidge had to be okay, there was no other option he could afford to stomach right now. 

His hand twitched for the first time since falling limply by his side, fingers reaching in closer to his waist. Keith, in front of him, was breathing hard, chest heaving like he'd just ran a marathon.

"Lance, c'mon. Can't you see it? We're free."

_We're not._

"We can escape now."

_There's no escape._

"Lotor can't touch us down here."

_He's already here._

_I don't want to die. Not when I'm finally home._

His fingers wrapped around the foreign object at his waist. It felt wrong, and alien, not at all what he was used to—the awkward angle his hand was at, the strange uneven weight of it—

He brought his hand up in a flying arch— _forgive me, Keith, it's the only way_ —and brought the hilt of his sword down hard onto his friend's head, the resulting  _crack_ like ricocheting bullet rebounding through his body and flying straight through his heart. The sight of Keith's body first jolting with the impact, and then bodily slamming into the floor beneath him with devastating force caused Lance to retch. He heaved his empty stomach up with terrible, agonising sounds.

When he slowly pulled his hand back to himself, the hilt of the sword clenched tightly between his stiff, dead fingers he saw it was wet with blood. Groaning like a broken animal, Lance fell to his knees and immediately took up Keith's limp wrist in his hands, dropping the sword and pulling back his glove to feel for his pulse. He found it straight away, felt it thrum steadily under his fingers that were pressed tightly into the pale skin. He could see the delicate blue veins just below the surface and immediately thought he was going to retch again.

 _It was done._  

With Keith unconscious, he could pilot the jet to the coordinates they'd given Pidge and find Shiro. Bring him back.

And continue to survive. 

Vaguely, he thought, as he took Keith's place at the controls, that his mother wouldn't recognise the thing that returned to her as her son anymore. But he was beyond caring anymore.

 _Please. Someone save me from this. I don't want to fight anymore,_ another, quieter part of him pleaded. It got quieter with every minute.  

When only emptiness greeted him—no Allura, no Keith, no Pidge, no Hunk, no Shiro, not even fucking Lotor—Lance realised how truly alone he'd become.

* * *

"Did you get it all?" Lotor asked, his finger running over the smooth skin of his lower lip as he felt it curl into a grin, watching the screen before him with feet curling pleasure.

"Every second of it, Prince," Haggar answered, standing by his side. She'd finally been able to return to her normal form after days of pretending and deceit. She looked weary, deep lines marking the skin beneath her eyes and she would be unable to use her druid magic for at least a few more days, but she was clearly pleased. How couldn't she be? They'd just single handedly orchestrated the fall of Voltron. And soon, everyone in the universe would know. 

"How many galaxies can we broadcast this to at once?" he asked, watching as the Blue Paladin sat heavily back down and took over the controls, rotating the jet around to shoot off in the opposite direction. Lotor saw the grim and broken set of his face and preened. It was a job well done. 

"Hundreds. And they'll spread it around soon enough. The rest of the universe will catch onto it like fire," Haggar informed him.

He stood from his seat, slowly stretching out his back and shaking off the stiffness in his shoulders. He'd been sitting around orchestrating all this for days now, and was eager for it to come to an end finally. Though, watching the Blue Paladin _was_ incredibly entertaining. If Lotor knew it would be this satisfying he would have done it a long time ago.

"Keep the cameras rolling, there will surely be more drama to come, especially once the half-breed wakes to find dear Blue has betrayed him. I want the fall out filmed, every second of it, from a hundred different angles. We caught the Green Lion's demise as well, yes?" Haggard nodded. "Good. I want the universe to watch Voltron tear itself to shreds. To see what's become of there precious saviours."      

"You truly are a terrible and brilliant wonder, young Prince. I'm sure your father would be—"

" _Proud_?" he cut her off with a sneer. "You think I care what my father would think about me?" Haggar didn't answer him, her yellow eyes falling to the floor, obedient. "This is greater than my father's _approval_. He was narrow minded and weak and allowed his obsession with the Black Lion to blind him. This is bigger than his pathetic _Empire_. I couldn't care less about power."

He recalled his words to dear Blue: " _I'll make sure the Altean Princess knows my power is absolute."_ What a disgusting lie.

Lotor wasn't interested in power.

He wanted chaos.

He wanted to watch the universe unravel and destroy itself, collapse under its own weight, and was simply giving it the nudge it needed. 

And it began with Voltron's self-destruction.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Feeling betrayed bc it's the 4th here but no season three bc AUSTRALIA. 
> 
> I was really tired after work so I am not completely pleased with this. It may be edited a bit after posting. But not much.
> 
> I mean, I warned you it was gonna be a darker path. Lance may seem out of character, but I'm not basing the characters off the intensity of the show. I'm upping the maturity so he's gonna act different to the show obviously. 
> 
> I swear this has a reasonably happy ending though.


	15. Day Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance dreams. Shiro. Keith wakes up.

An entire night passed before Keith awoke, during which Lance was convinced he'd killed the other Paladin, had refused to even so much as touch him for fear of finding his skin ice cold. 

_Who's the coward now?_

He'd arrived at the shitty shack the previous night, just as the sun disappeared, hauling an unconscious Keith off the jet by the back of his suit and unceremoniously dumping him onto the couch, immediately aware of the fact there was _no_ Shiro. Disappointment and panic had flooded through him, burning hot and rushing inside his ears. If the Black Paladin had been here there were no signs of him; everything looked exactly the way it had when they left. Lance could even see his crude drawing of a dick he'd stuck on Keith's mind-map thing. At the time, he'd hoped that Keith would return get pissed off, give him something to remember Lance by, as he'd always endeavoured to do in the beginning.

He'd taken the posted-it note off the board and instead stuck it on Keith's forehead. The gesture seemed almost habitual. If the situation hadn't been what it was, it might have been a fond and humorous moment. 

Perhaps Shiro was somewhere else for now? Lance trusted Keith's perception skills when it came to Shiro and he'd decided to wait it out. 

Lance had collapsed onto the couch besides Keith, keeping a healthy amount of space between him and the unconscious boy. Dick on Keith's face, and a grimace on his own, he fell asleep. Didn't mean to as he was mildly worried Keith would wake up and skewer him or Shiro was arrive and impale him. Either way, he shouldn't have fallen asleep. It was a bad idea in so many unnecessarily cruel ways.  

He dreamt again. This time Lance was above Keith, straddling him, pressing the other Paladin hard into the ground. Extremely out of character, Keith wasn't struggling, lay there slack and with absolutely zero fight inside his eyes. Keith's eyes always had this gleam about them, something fierce and just a little bit frightening, but now they were completely flat, like someone had thrown powder over them which drained away all the shine. They stared straight into Lance's eyes. 

One of Lance's hands were resting over Keith's mouth, lightly, and he could feel the warm puff of his breath against his palm. Dead eyes, but otherwise alive. His gut hissed.

A heavy warmth settled behind him, pressing in close and a hand snaked around to his stomach, which rumbled at the deceptively soft touch. A soft voice whispered next to his ear. "Dear Blue, you're magnificent now. You've drained out all the will of the little half-breed. How utterly glorious you've become." He could feel the Prince's hot breath feather out over the side of his face. "Show him. Show him what you've become." 

Lance shook his head, slowly, in a haze. "It's ugly." 

"No, no no no no. Dear Blue. It's so beautiful," he crooned softly, his other hand coming up to rest over Lance's forehead straightening his entire body from that point of contact while the hand on his stomach began to move. It's claws dug in, like before, and dragged agonisingly slow over the entire width of his abdomen, deeper this time, drawing blood immediately. It dribbled out in a hot tide, coming faster and faster, covering the Prince's hand with it—covering Keith. 

The hand over his stomach moved—somehow Lance hadn't been able to make a single move against the Prince, felt like he was pinned to the spot, his mouth sewn shut—and came up in front of Lance's face. He watched the dark red, his _blood_ , drip down along his forearm in thin trickles. Lance started when he felt the Prince leaning in around him, moving forward as he dragged his mouth over his own hand, covering his it with crimson. He turned to grin at Lance, mouth sticky and awful, his blood turning his perfectly white teeth red. 

"You see, little half-breed. Red. Just like you. Beautiful. Here," he added, and suddenly leant forwards, pushing Lance down with crushing force, and trapping him between himself and Keith. Bowed over top of them, arched and predator like. Lance's face was forced uncomfortably between the Prince's shoulder and the side of Keith's head. Keith still didn't move; even when the Prince sprung on him, pushing away Lance's hand, and pressing a kiss to his limp mouth. Lance wanted to cry out, but his mouth still wouldn't move. Even as the Prince's mouth forced its way deeper into the kiss, couldn't help but watch as the blood from his mouth pressed itself onto Keith's—inside Keith's. It sounded wet and awful, and when the Prince finally pulled away, revealing a mess of blood all over Keith's mouth, Lance could see a faint glow inside the Red Paladin's eyes. 

It slowly became brighter and brighter, fluorescent and vivid, swallowing up his pupils, his irises' and the whites of his eyes until all that was a left was Galra yellow. The Prince was grinning down at Keith, his mouth still dangerously close, sharp canines flashing. 

"There. You did it, dear Blue. All it took was a little bit of you. He's the Galra he was always meant to be." 

* * *

When Shiro had woken up on the couch inside Keith's shack twenty-three days ago in his Paladin armour and sporting a terrible headache, he immediately knew that his life was probably the most awful, hilarious wreck in the universe. The first thing he'd done upon awakening was begin laughing. Uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. Laughter soon gave way to crying and he'd spent the next hour sobbing into the musky mattress in a way he'd never allowed himself to do.

He was tired.

Tired of aliens, tired of space, tired of _Voltron,_ even. He was the leader, fuck off, of course he knew that, but he was tired of fighting. Arriving back to Earth was supposed to be the end of his troubles, not a precursor to unintentionally conscripting himself into an intergalactic war. He'd done well, he supposed, given the circumstances. He survived, pushed through his PTSD, kept himself fit, mentally at capacity, leading like the Captain he'd always been. He was...just due for a breakdown. 

Lance had cried like that in front of him once, when he'd come knocking on Shiro's door complaining that he kept seeing Sendak in his dreams, that he kept imagining being shot out the air lock and straight into Sendak's waiting claws. He'd sobbed on Shiro's shoulder, repeating the same _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm weak, I'm sorry."_ Shiro didn't tell him otherwise, it wasn't what the Blue Paladin wanted. He wasn't after approval or reassurance at the time, he'd just wanted someone to tell him that they understood. Shiro had said as much, and dragged the slim boy into a hug. He understood, more than anyone.

Lance was stronger than he gave himself credit for, proved himself time and time again, never once asking for approval, but earning it through sheer grit and determination alone. He imagined he'd grow into a capable fighter very soon. 

He'd never imagined he'd crack the hilt of a sword over Keith's skull, sending the other boy sprawling. When he turned back to the controls, his blue eyes were practically black as his pupils expanded.

Shiro watched the screen in the shop window, hood pulled carefully over his face, with his heart like lead inside his chest. _Lance._ Lance had just knocked out his own friend in cold blood. Shiro was too shocked at what he saw to even question how it was even being broadcasted. The same footage was played repeatedly on all the screens in the window, even mobile phones, computers—anything with a screen.   

He saw it over and over again, even as he turned and sprinted off in the opposite direction, to where he'd hidden Keith's (he was vaguely concerned about how the boy acquired the thing) hover bike. Saw the swing of Lance's arm, heard the crack of the hilt against Keith's skull, the slump of his body, the frantic look in Lance's eyes—all as he raced off full speed on the bike. The wind whipped through his hair, cool and refreshing on his face despite the blaring sun above him. 

 _Lance._ There was no way Lance would harm Keith like that on purpose, not unless something terrible was happening to him, to them both. They'd both been in the cockpit of a Galra jet, what was up with that? Things weren't lining up, and Shiro, after twenty-three days of feeling sorry for himself was ready to fight again. Rest, it was all he needed. He was a leader, made and bred to withstand impossible thresholds of stress, thrived off it. His rest was over now. Voltron was here.

They were on Earth. The  _fuck_? They were on Earth, and Shiro knew exactly where Lance was heading. The video had been cut to show only Lance's attack on Keith, so he had no verbal clues about their intentions on Earth, but Shiro had seen Lance enter coordinates in moments after knocking Keith out, and he immediately knew what they were doing here. 

They were looking for him. 

* * *

When Keith woke, he was confused when he was greeted by a profound bombardment of the colour pink. 

His first thought was,  _if this is the afterlife I'm going to stab something._ But then, as he gradually became aware of the soft cushions under him, the odd angle his neck leaned at and the searing pain in his head, he realised he was not yet dead. He was disappointed when he noticed he wasn't as pleased with this as he wanted to be. Depressing. With a groan, he reached to removed whatever was obscuring his vision from his face.

He was surprised to see it was a pink post-it note with a detailed drawing of a dick on it. Keith had no recollection of ever drawing dicks on anything, and definitely not that detailed.

It was then the familiar scent washed over him, sudden and overwhelming, woody and aged, like the pages inside a very old book. He'd lived with this smell for years, was surrounded by it as his only company after Shiro disappeared. It had been in his nose when he'd kissed Shiro, on this very couch, his heart in his throat, and then in his stomach when he'd faced the inevitable rejection. This smell had been his entire miserable existence before Voltron. Had whisked off by Blue randomly one day and never had to smell it again. After so long surrounded by the smell and sensation of the people around him, all their aliveness, this familiar musk made him feel ill with old memories of loneliness and rejection.

His heart froze with dread, fractions of memory slowly clicking into place as he forced himself to recount his last waking moments.

Lance. Lance rambling, his eyes blown wide and then his hand swinging down with brutal force upon his skull. That explained the headache, then. Throwing away the post-it note, Keith slowly dragged himself until he was sitting upright, his hands coming up to cup his face between them. They were shaking. Keith's hands never used to shake until Lance.

"Keith," a voiced snapped him into reality, his head jerking up to see Lance opposite him leaning back against the wall, arms crossed and his expression...dangerous. With the Galra uniform on he looked slick and deadly, the sharp lines of the suit emphasising his long form. "How are you feeling?" 

"You smashed your sword into my skull, so pretty fucking terrible," Keith growled, rising into a shaky standing position. He didn't want to face Lance sitting down. "Lance, what's happening to you?" 

Lance's eyes snapped away, focusing on something out of sight. "I'm sorry I did that. But it was the only way." 

"To what?" Keith insisted, straining forward, but feeling pulled back like he was shackled by invisible restraints; as if there was something inside him telling him to stay away from Lance.

"To follow Lotor's rules."

"Jesus, Lance," Keith broke out with, hand running through his hair. "You're still spouting that shit? You're still gonna catch Shiro for that psycho?"

"No, no no no. We've just got to make it convincing until we can find an opening."

"We've had like ten openings, Lance! You've shut down every single one of them. All you had to do was say a few convincing words and I was like putty in your hands. You've been using me."

Lance's face split into a snarl. "I haven't!" Then his face flinched back, his eyes becoming unfocussed as he...he what? He looked like he was listening for something. Or—

Listening to someone. He recalled when he'd pulled the gun on Lotor, the way the Prince had hardly even spared a glance for him and instead slid his eyes across to Lance, where they remained. He remembered his hand moving, but his vision had been so full of hot red rage at the time he hadn't been able to focus on it.

"Lance," he tried getting the Blue Paladin's attention, slowly creeping forwards, despite the pull of the invisible restraints on him. "Whatever he's saying to you. Don't listen to it. He's just messing with you."

"You don't think I know that?" Lance suddenly snarled, his face twisting into something terrible. "I know the rest of you think I'm some kind of freeloading idiot, but I'm smart enough to realise when I'm being mind-fucked." 

"Then why are you letting him do it!?" 

"Because it's none of your _business,_ asshole. Can't you just...just do what I say?" His eyes were growing increasingly frantic, switching between focussing on Keith and the nothing in-between when he presumed Lotor was speaking to him. Whispering into that head of his. The sick bastard had no _right_. Whatever he was saying, whatever he had threatened, it had turned Lance into this cornered mess. Keith saw his hands clutching at his stomach, his eyes suddenly screwing up shut as a breath of pain escaped him. Just like the moments before Lance had shoved Allura to the ground, with terrible unseeing eyes.  _This again._

When Lance began to hunch over from another roll of pain, Keith took his chance, snatching it up despite the awful pain splitting through his skull. He swept forwards—he had no weapon, no bayard, no rifle, but his hands were enough, he didn't want to hurt Lance after all—and barrled into Lance, catching him around the waist and throwing him to the side. Lance landed with a surprised gasp on his stomach, instantly trying to jump to his feet, but Keith was quick, and dropped his entire bodyweight onto Lance's back. His hands immediately went for Lance's struggling ones, pinning them to the ground, and he drove his body mercilessly downwards, trapping Lance beneath him. Pinned. 

Lance was shuddering and gasping beneath him, Keith could feel it through his entire body, like that wire that always hung between the two of them was suddenly lit up. He could feel every shift and tremble of Lance's body as if they were his own. 

"Lance," he murmured into the other boy's ear, trying for something calm, a page out of Lance's own book. "You're having a panic attack. It's gonna cause you to act out and become a danger to yourself and everyone around you."

A broken noise tore itself out of Lance's chest. "No, no no no no no," he was saying. Keith wasn't sure if it was to him or Lotor. With one hand, he moved Lance's wrists closer together so he could grasp them both at the same time in his right hand. His left, moved to Lance's ear, snatching the comm away and tossing it across the room. Keith nearly sobbed when Lance's head struck the floor with a cry, like he'd just lost all hope.

Beneath him, Lance's body ran extremely warm, and he felt himself growing uncomfortable with the increasing heat. But he didn't move. He'd heard once from someone that if a person was suffering from a panic attack, they often could be calmed by the weight or feel of another person pressed tightly around them, said it helped ground them and gave them something to cling to. Of course, it was different for all people. Keith only prayed that Lance wasn't one of those people who needed space instead. This position worked, it meant ht could both restrain and calm the Blue Paladin at once.

The restraining part seemed to be working well, however, the longer Keith pressed himself to Lance, the more he seemed to rapidly lose himself. His breaths didn't slow, his heartbeat remained twice as fast as usual, and Keith could feel awful tremors passing through him every few minutes. He whimpered, too, like a beaten dog.

Keith heard him mutter something.

"What?" he asked, leaning in close to Lance's face, which was now pressed on its side to the floor, the one eye visible fluttering around nervously. There were tears in the corner. "Lance, repeat what you just said."

Shaky gasps, trembling lips—a full body shutter. Then: "I'm _afraid_. Please, help me." 

"That's what I'm trying to do," Keith insisted, his face close enough to Lance's that he could feel the faint tickle from the fine hairs over his cheek. "Let me help you fight him, whatever he's doing to you. We can figure it out, Lance." 

_Let me in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belong to Dreamworks
> 
> Heyyyy! So season three right?!? I feel spoilt with good content after watching it. What did you guys think??
> 
> Sorry about the timing for this one, knocked out from work yesterday lolol 
> 
> Again I'm still unsure about the quality of this chapter, hope you enjoy regardless.


	16. Day Twenty-Four: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk recollects an important part of his and Lance's past. Pidge's situation is uprooted. Lance and Keith share a moment. A short one, though.

When Hunk was fifteen he'd had his first real fight with Lance. As with most fights, it started out as something insignificant, something petty which could have easily been resolved had they been more mature. But being fifteen-year-old boys, Lance and Hunk were anything but mature, both determined to tear the other down when they were feeling vulnerable as if they were too afraid to suffer alone.

Which was why, when Lance stormed into their dorm one day, face bright red and his clothes askew, they had a fight of epic proportions.

"Woah," Hunk started, head swinging to the sound of the door being slammed shut, it's hinges groaning with protest. "What shoved itself up your ass?" He imagined his mother's shout of horror if she'd heard him say that.  _Sorry, mum._

" _Not_ in the mood," Lance groaned, falling face first onto his bed after dropping his backpack on the floor, its contents spilling out because of the broken zipper that left the bag forever open. 

Hunk watched Lance's pathetic display with narrowed eyes, scanned over the way his hair was all ruffled, like someone had dragged their hands all through it. Hunk instantly knew that the problem was, felt his mouth twist sideways with annoyance and exasperation. Lance was _impossible_. 

"Who was it this time?"

"I thought I told you I wasn't in the mood," Lance moaned, his voiced muffled by the pillow. He'd landed on the bed in that awkward way of his, his knees tucked into his chest and small ass high in the air. Hunk wished he'd _stop._    

"Your mood can get lost, we need to talk about this. You've blown me off every other time I've tried bringing it up and I'm tired of it. Now spill."

Lance's face turned sideways on the pillow, his eyes looked bleak and miserable, ringed with red and the skin irritated from what Hunk presumed was rubbing his eyes repeatedly with his hands. He'd been crying. His eyebrows were drawn down, unpleased, but Lance knew Hunk, knew his will was as immovable as a rock when he wanted it to be. "Steph," was all he gave. Hunk understood.

He gestured for Lance to elaborate. 

"I tried really hard. I got her attention, she giggled, I asked her out, she accepted, we went out for coffee, she enjoyed it, we left. We kept seeing each other for two weeks—yes, I didn't tell you and no I'm not sorry—it was good and comfortable. I kept my attitude to myself, opened doors for her, called her beautiful. I did everything _right_ ," he said, voice straining out between stiff lips. "Then today, she snuck me into her dorm so we could...you know. We made out for a while. It was nice, she felt good, soft and warm and I thought, 'maybe this will go somewhere.' And then she told me that she really  _appreciated_ me being there during this rough time for her. My hand half way up her thigh and she told me I was a good _distraction_ after her boyfriend broke up with her. That I'm not usually her type, not enough muscles like she was usually into. And then a second later she was sticking her tongue down my throat again." 

Hunk listened to all this in silence, feeling his heart sink with every word Lance said, seeing the way his face began to collapse and the slight tremble of his bottom lip.

Here's the thing about Hunk and Lance, they were generally very open with one another, both happy to cry in front of the other—Hunk had done  _a lot_ of that due to his father—and discuss their feelings and insecurities. It was healthy and worked well for them both. They were both chatters, after all. Too much time without talking meant bucketloads of breakdowns and anxiety. Lance would talk about Iverson's treatment of him, Hunk would worry about his hesitance to use the simulator, Lance would sniff about his homesickness, and Hunk would yell about his father's stupid decision to donate his body. They had a good dynamic. 

Perhaps that was why they worked well together as the legs of Voltron.

But Hunk knew Lance's encounter with Steph had snapped something inside his friend. She'd humiliated him and now he was trying to hold in his emotions,  _like a man._ This girl had literally straight up attacked Lance's confidence in himself right before his eyes and expected him not to be offended. And Lance being Lance would have blown off the comments at the time, continued doing whatever she wanted because he was afraid to make her feel bad by asking her to stop. Because he was too good to people, too aware of their feelings so he ignored his own. Lance was the most selfless person he'd ever met. Hunk was immediately angry.

"You can't listen to what she says. You know it's not true," he growled, sitting forwards on his bed, arms braced on his knees. 

Lance bristled, pulling himself up on his hands, his ass mercifully retreating from the high heavens. "No, I don't know, apparently. I definitely don't know if I keep making the same mistakes with every girl I date. It always ends up the same. I'm just another substandard tool for them to use. It's like they're trying on a different outfit that they thought was kinda ugly before but felt like changing it up a bit."

"You're not ugly, Lance."

"Tell that to them! Dainty, skinny, skin and bones, a jokester, naive, weird, kinda annoying, that's all I am."

Hunk's anger flashed before him like lighting. 

"Then that's their problem!" he burst out. He wasn't angry at Lance, of course not, he was angry at these girls who made him feel like this, and the way he allowed their words to affect him so easily. And his willingness to just let it continue. "What they think about you has nothing to do with you. Stop worrying about it."

Lance's face distorted and Hunk immediately knew he'd made a mistake. "Easy for you to say. Look at you!" he shouted, his arms flying out to gesture towards Hunk. "You're all muscle and power and strength. You always smell musky and good, you're tall as heck and you're funny without being annoying. Look at your arms." Hunk did, and he saw what Lance meant, they were extremely toned. But that was only due to his time spent constantly hauling parts of cars in his father's workshop. "You're a catch. I'm a fascinating but ugly jacket girls what to try on and discard once they're sick of it."

"Stop comparing yourself to people...and ugly jackets," Hunk tried, feeling annoyance rise up inside him as Lance brought his own body into the picture. He didn't appreciate Lance comparing them like this. "You're only digging an even deeper hole for yourself."

Again, Hunk winced when Lance shot to his feet, he'd made another mistake. "Stop telling me to not feel like this! Would you just—just..." 

He should shut up. In a perfect world he would have. 

This was not a perfect world.

"Just what?" Hunk bit out. "Help you see reason? Make you realise that people's opinions don't matter? Let you know what an idiot you're being worrying about all this?" 

He.

Fucked. 

_Up._

Oh man, it was the worst possible thing he could of said. He still looked back on it now and winced. Lance had flinched back, face going pale and a hand flying to his middle, like Hunk had shot him. His face absolutely smashed, all the cracks coming apart and crashing down onto the floor. Hunk immediately moved to grab Lance's hand, an apology ready on his tongue but Lance jumped back, eyes turning sharp. Defensive. 

 _No._ This wasn't how it worked. They didn't shut each other out like this, didn't look at each other with betrayed eyes and trembling lips. They talked about it calmly, listened to each other, and then ate pizza or something terrible at the end of it all. Lance retreated out of their room that afternoon and didn't return until curfew. Hunk had tried to catch him as he snuck in quietly, but Lance had only shrugged him off and silently slipped into bed. His eyes hard. This was wrong, Hunk felt all out of balance being cut off from Lance like this, feeling like he was ceaselessly knocking on a door and getting no response. Screaming inside a room and only receiving the sound of his own voice in return, bouncing off the walls and ricochetting straight back into him.

Lance didn't speak to him for two weeks unless it was absolutely necessary.

Looking back, Hunk realised he'd made two mistakes: The first was obvious, he'd called Lance an idiot, a direct insult to what Hunk knew was his worst insecurity. He'd already been insecure about his body that day, but Hunk had only driven the knife in deeper when he'd said that. Lance began studying harder than ever since then, hurt even more if he got a bad grade back, then tried harder again. It was like trying to watch him climb a mountain with no gear. But, amazing as ever, he still made it to the top. If only Lance was aware of that. He was  _amazing._

His second mistake was the worst, he could have easily prevented the entire thing had he not overlooked it.

He disregarded Lance's feelings. Lance came out to him, vulnerable and afraid, seeking _comfort,_ but instead Hunk had instantly told him _not_ to feel the way he was. He learned a valuable lesson that day: If Lance came to you with a problem, an insecurity, you must first acknowledge that it is okay before you tell him why he shouldn't have to feel that way. If he comes to you, it means he wants you to reassure him that his feelings are valid as much as he wants you to tell him they are misplaced. It was an important lesson, one that Hunk had been sure to use every time Lance came to him ever since.

Though, no amount of lessons had prepared Hunk for this. This cosmic rift between him and Lance.

And how much worse it was than he originally thought.

"I can't feel Lance on the other side of the link anymore," Allura had devastatingly informed him the day after she sent him to Earth. Somehow he'd escaped being picked up by Lotor's scanners when he entered the atmosphere. Perhaps the Prince wasn't expecting him...for a change. 

" _What?_ " Hunk said. Sure he hadn't really believed her at first, but he knew she was the last person to lie about something like this. Knew this was a definite cause for concern. "What does that mean?"

"It means something is wrong with Lance." A pause, ruffling and chatter in the background. "Wait a tick, I'm receiving a broadcast—oh no."      

Hunk made a distressed, questioning noise, which caused the sleeping girl in his arms to shuffle. Which brought up another thing: Pidge (and Kolivan) were fine. Battered, bruised and bloody. But otherwise perfectly healthy.

The same could not be said for her lion, however, which lay motionless in its crater, chunks of metal and wires scattered all over the place, it's eyes dark and lifeless. Hunk had immediately rushed to the crash site upon entering the atmosphere, his heart beating rapidly inside his chest when he saw the first glimpse of his home planet beneath him. He'd found Kolivan limping out of the lion's mouth with Pidge in his arms and thought the worst scenario had happened, felt his stomach heave and the familiar sensation of wanting to throw up begin. But after hastily landing his lion and rushing out to meet them, his arms instantly going for Pidge, Kolivan had reassured him they were both fine, that the lion had put its last efforts into protecting them from the worst of the crash.

It had been an entire night since then. They'd set up camp beside the Yellow Lion, Pidge and Hunk both wanting to at least spend a single night under _their_ stars before they had to rush off again. Kolivan was patient enough to allow them. They were under severe threat of Lotor finding out their location being so close to the crash site, however, Hunk decided they'd just tackle the problem if it became one. For now they needed rest. Tomorrow they'd track down the rest of the team. 

By the looks of it they were in the same desert Keith's shitty shack was in, just a fair distance away. They'd make their way there tomorrow to see if they could intercept Shiro before Lotor did. Allura, having lost contact with Lance, had no idea where the other two Paladins were.  

Pidge burrowed herself into Hunk's chest, her bruised and crying face sending shivers down his spine. This shouldn't be her life. She shouldn't be fighting a war. She shouldn't be mourning the potential loss of her lion. Hunk wanted to forgive Lance for what he said, however, seeing Pidge like this, scared and hurt, he was finding it exceptionally difficult. This had been his plan. Not just this one, but from the very beginning—he was the one that convinced Hunk to come out with him that night, he was the one that rushed in after Keith for Shiro, he was the one that piloted them into a wormhole inside a robotic lion they knew nothing about.

Pidge was only here because Lance had led them all to this point.

Could he forgive that?

By the sounds of Allura's panicked voice describing the scene that had just been broadcasted of Lance and Keith—Lance _attacking_ Keith—he wasn't going to get a choice. The two of them in Glara uniforms inside a Galra ship near their location, going after Shiro potentially? Hunk didn't believe Lance had betrayed them but—

What a mess.

* * *

At some point, after being tackled to the ground by Keith, Lance had presumably passed out from his own panic—had felt it run through his system like acid until his body felt numb and his mind slipped from under him. He woke up shortly afterwards to the same sensation of a heavy, warm weight being pressed on top of him. In his waking haziness, he could only process the fact that it felt good. It felt safe and protected, Keith's body shielding him from the rest of the world, the beating of his heart against Lance's back a comforting presence.

He wanted to stay like this.

He wasn't sure if Keith was even awake himself, his face was limp and heavy against Lance's, dark hair tickling his nose, and his breaths were slow and steady. He still held both of Lance's hands tightly between his own though, so he had to be awake. Lance's hands were almost numb with the force they were being gripped with. Allowing himself a few more moments of pleasant naivety, Lance sunk into the floor comfortably, feeling Keith's body press into him as he soaked up all the warmth he could.

He wondered why Lotor hadn't come crawling into his head yet, then remembered Keith pulling out his comm, remembered how Lotor's teasing voice had been terrifyingly cut off, remembered feeling like these would be his last moments and begging for help—and Keith answering. Keith _answered_ him. 

_Let me help you fight him, whatever he's doing to you. We can figure it out, Lance._

The weight on top of him shifted, slowly, letting go of Lance's hands and pulling away from the top half of him. He could still feel the warmth pressed to the middle of his back though, felt rooted to that spot because of it. 

"How are you feeling, Lance?" Keith said from above him, his voice rough. 

Lance tried moving his mouth to speak, but it felt loose and useless, like his lower jaw had been unhinged and just flopped around uselessly when he tried. Instead, only a groan came out of him, pathetic. 

"It's okay," Keith reassured, a hand returning to touch the nape of Lance's neck, soothing. "You don't have to speak. Just breathe, and try not to freak out this time. You're safe."  

_You're safe._

_You're safe._

Lotor had said the same thing just before the comm had been ripped from his ear.  _"You're safe, until the Black Paladin shows up. If you don't kill him on the spot, you can say goodbye to this world you only just returned to. How depressing."_

Lance hoped Shiro didn't turn up anymore. Lotor had promised him his life until he did. 

"Sit up, Lance." He did, Keith's hand remaining on that same point on his nape the entire way up as he shifted to allow Lance to get his legs under him. "I—I'm not good at this. I'm just going off from that other people have told me. Let me know if I'm making anything worse." Lance nodded, heart in his throat. His eyes swung to the discarded comm sitting just under that shitty coffee table of Keith's. This entire shack was so _shitty._  He felt an arm wrap around him from behind, around his chest, pulling him backwards into Keith, their armor catching uncomfortably against each other.

"Just shake or nod your head, okay? Can you tell me what's happening to you?"

Lance shook his head. 

"Is Lotor threatening you?" 

He hesitated, but eventually nodded his head, figuring Keith knew anyway, just needing confirmation. 

"Can you show me how?" 

He shook his head. Somehow Lotor was watching every move they made, he could see what was happening. Unless he showed Keith the capsule or Shiro walked in, he'd been promised he be kept alive. Without Lotor talking through the comm he had no idea what his intentions were, though. He had to play it safe. He figured his heartbeat kicked up a notch at these thoughts, as Keith tightened his arm around his chest.

"Don't fade out on me. If you can just try, tell me what you need," Keith murmured, low voice right next to Lance's ear. 

"I—" he tried, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. Keith remained patient. Since when was patience and Keith a thing? In fact, since when was Keith good with people at all?

The familiar burst of sarcasm spurred him on.

"I—need—" 

_I need you to tell me it's okay._

"Please—"

_Please stay close._

"Don't—"

_Don't raise your voice._

"I—want—" 

_I want your reassurance._

_Don't tell me what to do or feel._

Lance moaned in frustration, feeling tears prick his eyes as he couldn't get the words he wanted out. He felt helpless. 

But then—

Keith's voice came as a whisper. "I'm not mad," he soothed, and Lance closed his eyes. "I know you and I understand what you're feeling. This is _not_ your fault." 

Lance gasped, feeling the words rush over him like cool water over fresh burns. He bent over himself expecting to feel his stomach roll with pain again, but it didn't, it remained dormant, as if Keith's hands were keeping the thing inside at bay. It was quiet. How did Keith know exactly what to say? He was the last person on Lance's list of people he thought would know what to say in this moment. 

Finally, he pushed out a sentence from between his trembling lips. "Thank you. P—please stay here." He knew if Lotor saw them trying to leave before Shiro arrived back he'd press the button. He had no choice but to stay. It would be so much simpler, if Lance's life was the only one on the line here, he might have been able to give up by now. But Lotor brought his family into this. Allowing himself to die wouldn't be the end of it. But, for the moment, with Keith here holding him together, everything was a little more bearable. 

"I'll stay." 

* * *

An hour later they heard the door creak open. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin: Reallife me.  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean: Aesthetic me. 
> 
> I've been having some conversations with some of you here and I find it hard to keep up in the comments, so feel free to contact me on twitter or instagram if you'd like to chat. Season 3 discussions would be great! 
> 
> I feel spoilt by season 3 so I'm still dying over here. 
> 
> This update felt better than the last. 
> 
> I promise Lance will stop suffering soon. I honestly feel so bad doing it, I don't want to portray him as being weak. But he'll shine through again soon...he's just, going through some things. The resolution might surprise you! 
> 
> xoxox


	17. Day Twenty-Four: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor likes drama movies. LANCE. Hunk is making a devastating call. Keith wasn't prepared.

Lotor watched the screen before him with keen interest, his foot tapping mindlessly against the floor and his cheek propped up in his right hand. In his other hand his thumb circled slowly around the button that could end the Blue Paladin's life. It was harder to press than he had originally anticipated. A frustrating development. 

He hadn't slept that night.

His curiosity for how the Blue Paladin would handle the waking of his Galra lover, and inevitable fallout that was sure to come, was a huge and exciting distraction. An entire night passed, though, whereby the Red Paladin did not wake and Lotor was briefly both thrilled and disappointed that he might already be dead. But the hidden camera drone had picked up on the Blue Paladin constantly checking the other boy's pulse, nodding with reassurance when he supposedly found it. 

An entire night passed, and half a day later, the Red Paladin woke up. 

But he did not attack.

He'd lunged, and Lotor's pleasure had spiked with it, but quickly fell when he realised what he was doing. He was comforting the Blue Paladin, holding him to the ground like was trying to keep him together.

Lotor had tried slithering into Blue's head but then the comm had been ripped away and all he could do was watch as the two fell into each other like they'd done it a million times before. In retrospect, Lotor could have ordered Blue to attack the other Paladin first, he would have listened at the time—desperate enough to live. However, he'd held back from giving the order. Instead interested to see how the situation would unfold, surprised and a little impressed when Red only embraced his lover. But ultimately it was the wrong direction he needed the situation to go. 

He needed to redirect it before it veered too far. 

Lotor had an additional plan of action, thankfully, and had immediately put it into play when he saw the situation shift, just in time, too, before the half-breed brat figured out his ruse.

The Black Paladin. 

Blue's life was his until Black walked through that door and it would stretch his sanity and desperation to its absolute limits. He was at his wits end now, a thread fraying at the end as it was tugged too hard from the opposite side. Black's arrival would be the last tug Lotor needed before the thread finally snapped. 

Lotor was excited to see what would be unleashed. 

"Prince," Haggar's voice interrupted his thoughts, his foot paused in its tapping as he looked over his shoulder to her lazily.

"What is it, witch?" he said lowly, his voice tinged with annoyance. He'd never admit it, but he was tired, could feel the exhausted skin around his eyes pulling for his eyelids to close. But sleep was the last thing on his mind, he had more important matters to attend. Like, per se, the self-destruction of Voltron.

Haggar, looking more lively today, glided her way smoothly to stand in front of him, her face forever shielded by her lowered hood. Her eyes glowed yellow beneath it. "The Green Paladin survived. We spotted the traitorous Galra scum carrying the Paladin out and the Yellow Lion coming to their rescue. They're still by the crash site, though, and I believe they're going to leave soon to retrieve the Black Paladin. Do you wish for us to fire upon them?"

"No, let them go to their leader. Let them watch dear Blue murder him with his own two hands and _we'll_ watch the subsequent fallout, then soon, the entire universe will, too."

Haggar's face lifted slightly, her eyes narrowing on him. "This was part of your plan?"

Lotor chuckled, deep in his throat, and turned to the screen again, seeing Blue rising into a sitting position, Red close behind him. They truly were an extraordinary pair, despite their differences, despite Blue's betrayal, they supported each other no matter what. They came together, separated—like the waves of the ocean—then clashed back together again. An endless cycle. It was beautiful. Lotor truthfully did not want to kill dear Blue, he'd come to enjoy watching him, enjoy his attitude and his smirks. Lotor wanted to keep him around if he could. But that all depended on Blue. 

"No, it wasn't," he said. "Things have played out unexpectedly, for certain. It's like I've taken my hands off the controls but the ship is still hurtling towards the ground all on its own. It's  _fascinating._ I'm not even the one in control anymore. Are all humans this easily manipulated?" he inquired, watching the way Red murmured into Blue's ear. He longed to hear what he was saying. Wanted to steal it and use it on Blue himself one day. 

"Perhaps," was all the witch said. "Prince, I also come bearing news about your father's condition."

"Good news or bad news?" Lotor didn't care either way, it simply seemed like the kind of thing to say.

"That depends on how you feel about giving up on this fiasco with Voltron." Lotor's eyebrows scrunched together.

"Elaborate."  

"You're father is awake, and wants to you to cease your game with the Paladins and leave their destruction to him."

Anger boiled through his veins, scorching his skin from the inside as he straightened in his seat, glaring down at the witch with hateful eyes. Beside him, Zethrid growled deep in her throat. Haggar ignored her.

"Firstly," he began smoothly, taming his hatred. "My father gave up his right to destroying Voltron as soon as he was defeated by them. His pride was stuck so far up his ass he didn't realise the power of Voltron until it was too late. He doesn't get a second chance. Secondly," he added, a grin twisting his mouth to the side. "I've finished the game already. My final move has been made." He relaxed back into his seat, arms stretching out before him on the armrests. "I'm simply enjoying the results."

* * *

When Lance heard the front door creak open he and Keith had been settled on the musty smelling couch. He'd curled himself into Keith's shoulder, like he did with Hunk when he felt stressed or anxious. Keith, like Hunk, radiated warmth like a furnace. 

Though it felt immediately zapped out of him when the door creaked open wide and a familiar person made their way inside. Lance's heart sunk and his breath left him in a hard whoosh like he'd been punched. The entire room went still, the hand Keith had on Lance's shoulder stopping mid stroke.

Shiro, at the door, dressed in a distressingly ugly, grey sweat suit, looked between Keith and Lance, his dark eyes wide and disbelieving. But not quite surprised. He looked like he was expecting them, but in a completely different scenario. Lance saw him quickly zero in on Keith's hand and the minimal distance between them with frightening intensity. Lance drew back into couch as his neck began to itch. Lotor was watching, he knew. If he didn't—

His eyes slid to the sword leaning against the opposite end of the couch. He couldn't do this.

He _had_ to do this. 

"Lance," was the first thing Shiro said, the sound of his voice sweeping over Lance like a cool breeze in the middle of summer. He wished he could find it pleasant like he normally would. Instead, it caused a shiver to run up his spine. When Lance didn't respond to Shiro, he turned to Keith. "Keith. Explain, _n_ _ow._ " 

Lance could feel Keith's eyes on him, feel the way his hand tightened on his shoulder. When he responded to Shiro he didn't take his eyes off Lance. "It's complicated." 

"Then simplify it for me." 

Shiro's voice had turned hard and commanding, a Captain speaking to his subordinate. Not at all what Keith was most likely hoping to hear after their separation.  _I'm sorry to ruin this moment for you, Keith,_  Lance thought with regret.

"Lotor—"

" _Lotor_?" Shiro rose a brow, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him.  _No,_ Lance thought.  _Leave, stay away, leave me alone!_

"Zarkon's son. He made a move against us. Lance and I had a plan to counter it but it's backfired and now Lotor is—is doing something to influence Lance. He—" 

"Knocked you out inside a Galra ship? I saw." 

Lance felt Keith stiffen beside him. " _What_? How?" 

"Don't worry about that right now. Lance, is he...himself?"

Shiro was still coming closer—too close, too easily within Lance's range. He felt anger poison the blood inside his veins the closer he got.  _Stay away from me!_ As if sensing this, Keith said to Shiro, "Don't come any closer." Shiro paused, looking unsure as his eyes tracked back to Lance. His legs were bent and arms held up in a submissive pose, like he was calming a wild animal. "He's just panicked." 

_I'm not._

"He's afraid—"

_I'm a danger to you both._

"Just keep your distance for now." 

_Get the hell out of here!_

He heard Lotor's teasing words inside his ear, felt his hot breath brush like a phantom over his neck:  _You're safe, until the Black Paladin shows up. If you don't kill him on the spot, you can say goodbye to this world you only just returned to._ The Black Paladin was here, he was no longer safe and could hear the beat of his heart in his ears like the countdown of a clock. His stomach rolled and coiled inwards, ready to spring forwards at any moment. Shiro was right _there._ Alive. His very existence a threat to Lance's life—to his family's lives. 

_Kill him._

_Reach for the sword and toss it at him._

_It's such a small distance he won't be able to evade without at least a mortal wound._

_Keith will be shocked._

_Use your elbow to knock him out and continue your assault on Shiro._

_Stab him again._

_And again._

_And again._

_And again._

_Keep going until his heart stops beating._

His vision was too bright. 

Stomach—hissing and awful, the thing inside slithering up is throat, ready to strike. 

_Shiro._

_I don't want to do this._

_You must._

_Shiro—KILL HIM._

_SHIRO, GET OUT OF HERE._

Everything narrowed down, his vision tunnelling down to that single point where Shiro stood. He saw his lips were moving, eyes concerned and enquiring of Lance. Kind, like Shiro always had been. There was only the rushing of his blood inside his ears, Shiro, and the sword less than a metre away. He felt the brush of Lotor's hand against his stomach, looked down to see nothing there, felt his words inside his ears,

Felt felt felt felt felt FELT FELT _FELT_ —

 

                                                                                                                         

 

                                                                                                        —Nothing—

* * *

As Hunk's lion neared the coordinates for Keith's shitty shack (they'd decided that was their new honorary name for the place) Allura's face flashed up on the view screen beside him. Still not the most natural pilot, his head turned to look at her, only to end up almost veering his lion off into an incoming mountain. With a shout, he righted himself back up again, sweat slicking down his temple. Behind him Pidge swore and Kolivan growled a reprimand to her. Against the controls, Hunk's hands shook. So he still wasn't an expert pilot? Sue him. 

"Hunk," Allura said, her face deadly serious. "Be careful entering the..." she tapered off, unsure. 

"Shitty shack, we've named it," Pidge helped. She was still slightly bitter about leaving Green behind, but Hunk and Allura assured her they'd be back for the lion soon.

From the corner of his eye he saw Allura raise a brow. "Right...anyway, be vigilant. We've established Shiro is most likely there, but there is a high certainty that Keith and Lance will be now, too. And with Lance the way he is..." Allura's face fell. She looked devastated, and disappointed with herself. As if this was her fault. "He's not himself. But he's not lost yet, Hunk. Don't give up on him, have faith in your friend. After all, you're the one who told me from the very beginning he's stronger than he looks. You are to bring _all_ your Paladin's back, understand?" her voiced sharpened off at the end, like the sharpening of a sword before battle.

Hunk's spine automatically straightened. He'd try—for her, and Pidge and Shiro and Keith and the universe—he'd try his hardest. But Hunk had seen the video Allura had described to him, in spite of her warning, had seen the look in Lance's eyes, seen the strength he'd brought the hilt down against Keith's head. He didn't recognise the person he saw in the video as his friend anymore. Allura might still have hope, but Hunk knew Lance better than anyone and there was very little chance of there being anything left of him. He knew Lance's limits. He felt his heart crack and his resolve strengthen in the same instant. If Lance proved to be too much of a danger, he'd have no choice.

He'd have to take Lance out.

It was an awful thought, but Lance had been right: He'd been a coward up until now. He understood now that a Paladin's job was to do what was necessary, no matter how much it hurt him, no matter how much he didn't want to do it.

If killing Lance was the only way to protect his team and the universe, then that's what he'd do.

"I understand," he said to Allura. The lie was bitter on his tongue.

She nodded sharply. "We'll take care of things up here, you just keep yourselves alive."

Her words kept stabbing him in the gut, reminding him of the terrible thoughts running through his mind, like the way throwing up reminded you of the poor decision you made the previous night. He wished she'd stop talking. Didn't want to have to imagine letting her down before it even happened yet.

Allura clicked out, mercifully.  

"Hey, Hunk?" Pidge asked, leaning over his seat, her voice dropping so Kolivan couldn't hear.

"Hey, Pidge? What's up?" His voice sounded fake in his own ears. 

"Why do you look like you swallowed a mouthful of glass?" His eyes swished sideways, glancing at her worriedly before retuning to his screen again.

"I'm just hungry for a potential pizza after all this is over," he responded automatically, with a laugh, knowing a good old food joke would deter Pidge from his scent.

"Oh! We should go to that place Lance always talks about. The pizza shack over the beach! It'll be a _way_ bigger improvement over Keith's shitty shack and will be good for Lance after all this bullshit. I think taking him somewhere familiar will help. Vara—something something beach he called it? It's in Cuba, I know," she said, waving her hands. "We could take him to see his family, too!"  

Hunk's blood went cold. _Pidge, don't. Don't make me think of that now. Not when—_

_When—_

_When I have all these awful thoughts inside my head._

* * *

Keith wasn't prepared when Lance suddenly lurched out of his arms at a speed he'd never seen him move before and pull out the sword he hadn't realised was in the room. He wasn't prepared for Lance to turn his sights on Shiro with narrowed eyes and send the weapon slicing through the air into the man Keith had first fallen in love with. He wasn't prepared for Shiro not to move out of the way like he normally would. Wasn't prepared to see him drop to the ground like a stone, the sword protruding offensively out of his shoulder like it was laughing at Keith. Wasn't prepared for Lance to twist towards him, eyes glazed and unseeing, and lunge with his hands out towards Keith's throat. 

He wasn't prepared to reach back and feel the gun he kept hidden beneath the couch cushions still there, a cold dead weight in his hand as he brought it up towards his friend.

He wasn't prepared to feel his finger move so effortlessly over the trigger and squeeze.

He wasn't prepared for the weapon to be loaded.

For it to kick back with frightening force, jarring his wrist.

He wasn't prepared _—_

He was never prepared.

Because he wasn't Lance.   

* * *

When Hunk and Pidge reached Keith's shitty shack they heard a gunshot tear through the still air of the desert with devastating power. They felt the ripple it left behind in the air, stopping them in their tracks. With drawn faces _—_ Pidge's, battered, and Hunk's, despairing _—_ they pulled out their bayards and activated them simultaneously.

No one was going to any Pizza shack in Varadero beach anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> The writing got weird there. Just a thing I was trying out. I do a fine arts course so sometimes I butcher text for my own fascination. If you don't like it, let me know. I'll refrain from it in the future. 
> 
> I swear things will chill out soon. I swear there is a resolution to all this. 
> 
> I swear I don't hate Lance. Neither does Hunk. I just like, pushing characters. 
> 
> xoxoxo


	18. Day Twenty-Four: Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a single shot from a gun Keith wasn't prepared for.

It was a miracle that Keith was the universe's absolute worst shot.

Even at such pathetically close range, the bullet only grazed the side of Lance's neck with blinding speed and smashed into the opposite wall. Lance was still rushing at him though, his hand coming up to smack the gun out of Keith's hand, but naturally, Keith was faster, leaping to the side and landing in a crouch at the opposite end of the couch. The familiar movement jogged his brain into action again, his body naturally responding as his instincts began to kick in. He had two goals: Subdue Lance without killing him and stabilise Shiro (also without killing him). It was easier said than done, however, when Lance was moving with frightening speed towards him again, but this time Keith had a weapon.

As Lance's hands reached for him again Keith brought down the butt of the gun hard on the back of Lance's hands. The hands faltered, Lance slowing as Keith saw his blue eyes register the pain for a moment before concentrating on lunging at him again. Good. If Lance was still able to register pain it meant he was still in there, still a part of him that wasn't this...this frightening thing.

Keith rolled out of the way again, towards Shiro, his hand reaching out to touch his wrist, feeling his pulse thrum beneath his skin before he quickly jumped away. Shiro was still alive, but he wouldn't be for long if he didn't lure Lance away from his vulnerable body. He didn't care what it took, he was keeping these two alive no matter the cost. _Whether Keith made it off was irrelevant—redundant._  He'd promised to get Lance off that ship. 

All of Lance.

Somehow his mind was still up there, clutched between Lotor's filthy hands, the Galra fuck squeezing and moulding it as he pleased.

Keith didn't want to knock Lance out; it would solve nothing. He'd wake up restrained and immediately begin to send himself into another panicked state. What Keith needed to do was gradually compel Lance out of this state of his, and he had an idea how.

He was in front of the door now, preparing for Lance who was sweeping forwards, long body low to the ground like Keith taught him in training once. He was still fighting like himself, using techniques he and Shiro had taught him in the past—it was still _Lance_ in front of him. He was using memories and his own natural skills, just like he would if they were training. When he was in range, Keith brought the gun down again against his ribs, earning him a pained breath from the Blue Paladin. The pain didn't stop him though, and a second later he was hurling forwards again. Keith dodged swiftly to the side, like he'd done so many times before with Lance in training, and smacked him in the middle of his spine between the gap of his armour just as his head collided with the door. Not hard enough for him to pass out, but enough to force out a pained groan. 

Keith realised that Lance wasn't really any faster, just more desperate, less analytical about his approach. Which made him quick, but he also made mistakes. When Lance, dazed, turned his attention back on Keith, he saw the slight moment of hesitation before he tried again for Keith, going low for his middle in a tackle. Keith allowed it, but was quick to take control and twist their bodies in air so they landed on their sides, where he rolled Lance on his back and used his legs to nail the boy's body into the ground. 

It was still Lance. 

He was just missing a few pieces of himself. 

Keith whispered a silent apology before he smacked the gun into Lance's cheek, opening the wound from a few days ago, blood smearing across his face. 

He just needed to wake up. 

He hit him again.

With every hit, Keith saw a little more recognition spark in Lance's eyes. Each bout of pain bringing him closer to the surface. Keith only hoped he wouldn't have to hit him until he died.  _Just snap out of it already, idiot._ He needed Lance back, he had to get to Shiro, but he couldn't unless Lance was subdued. He couldn't lose either of them. 

Beneath him, Lance snarled, straining up from the ground as his hands tried to dig into Keith's shoulders, but the armour there protected him, only causing Lance to ruin his perfect nails instead. With a wince, he brought down the gun in the same spot splitting Lance's cheek open in an ugly, gaping wound. 

_Just come back to me already. Stop making me hurt you like this, you asshole._

_WAKE UP._

Lance bucked, trying to throw him off his hips, but Keith only pressed down harder, his knee digging in mercilessly between the gaps of the gear over Lance's stomach. When he did, Lance screamed. 

_Screamed._

A broken ragged thing, and threw his head back hard into the wooden floor. Belatedly Keith remembered the wounds Lotor had given Lance previously and felt ill. But looking at the way Lance's face twisted into unrecognisable agony, Keith thought it was more than that. Whatever was causing this amount of pain went deeper than any physical thing.

"Lance," Keith sobbed. "I'm sorry." And pressed his knee down harder.

The sound of Lance howling in catastrophic agony _—_ agony Keith inflicted _—_ would haunt him for the rest of his life. He knew he'd hear it inside his nightmares for years to come. Knew it would follow him onto the battlefield and ride with him whenever he sat in the pilot's seat. In the same instant he dug his knee in, Lance's hands came up to claw at his face, his now jagged finger nails dragging painful hot lines down his face and soon Keith was screaming along with Lance.

It felt like a nightmare.

* * *

Pidge could hear screaming from inside the shitty shack.

Could hear Lance first, agonising screams, like he was having his insides forcefully ripped out from him. Then Keith, as if his heart was being torn from him. Pidge instantly stopped in her tracks, no more than five meters from the door that started it all—started Voltron. Hunk, beside her, stopped and swivelled to face her, thick eyebrows drawn so close together they looked like a single line across his forehead. His hand touched her shoulder, gently.

Swallowing the lump inside her throat, she said, "What if I told you I don't want to go inside?"

"Then I'd say you don't have to."

"Does it make me a coward, though?"

Hunk's faced twisted a fraction. "Of course not. You've spent so long being brave, you're allowed to be afraid once in a while, Pidge."

"That makes sense, logically speaking," Pidge said, her eyes staring wide and fearfully towards the door. The screaming had died down a fraction, but she could still hear terrible grunts and shouts coming from within. The sound of glass shattering jolted her backwards. "I can't go in there."

Hunk's hand pulled her into a quick embrace, sideways and kind of awkward with their gear, but she relaxed into it for all it was worth. "It's fine," he murmured into her hair. A moment later he stepped away from her, somehow he was holding his massive weapon in one arm the entire time they were talking (crazy strong?), and crossed the space to the door.

His hand rested on the doorknob and just before he turned it Pidge said, "Bring Lance back. Please, Hunk."

A look of pain crossed Hunk's face, like he'd been stabbed, but he only nodded and pushed the door open. Pidge, feeling her heart beat wildly inside her chest, her fear rising up like hands to strangle her throat, twisted around and ran the other direction with tears in her eyes. She couldn't face this. She couldn't face another broken family. She didn't care if it made her a coward.

* * *

_Blood._

_Blood on his hands._

_Why was this familiar?      The feeling of flesh tearing under his nails?_

_A memory._

_It dripped down red from above._

_Like rain._

_But that couldn't be right?     Rain was cold and clear._

_This was hot._

_Burning his skin _—_ his mouth, and eyes. Acid._

_A nightmare._

_There was a pressure on his stomach—painful._

_It was crushing the hissing thing inside him._

_It clawed to get free._

_It growled._

_The red burned his skin again._

_Was that a voice?_

 

_Drip drip drip drip drip drip._

_The rain used to drip like that on his bedroom ceiling._

_Used to wake him up in the morning._

 

_Drip drip drip drip._

_There were cold drips now, falling with the hot ones._

_Rain._

_They were clear, falling like liquid crystals onto his face._

 

_Drip drip drip._

_A face.      Eyes the colour of storm clouds._

_The rain fell from those storm clouds._

 

_Drip drip._

_His hands were beneath those clouds. Touching     something._

 

_Drip._

 

_The weight above him was suddenly ripped away, causing him to feel feather-light, a second from floating into the air. There was something yellow and long pressed against his forehead._

* * *

Hunk pressed the tip of his bayard into Lance's forehead, holding back a flailing Keith with his other hand as he focussed all his attention on Lance. Lance, whose eyes were glazed and wide, staring at the barrel of his weapon like it wasn't even there. He had blood all over his face, an awful mixture of his own and Keith's, judging by the jagged red lines that ran down the Red Paladin's face. 

Hunk's hands were not steady.  

Lance was gone. This creature in front of him wasn't his friend. He should shoot now and put an end to its misery. 

But Lance had warned him once never to take a shot when your hands weren't steady.

But Lance had also said this to him once: _"If I ever stray from my path, big guy, I want you to be the one to end me. If an evil witch brainwashes me beyond redemption or I betray the team, you have to be the one who kills me. And I'll do the same for you, if you stray from the path, too. There is no one else I'd rather have end my life."_

This is what Lance would want. He'd tell Hunk to blow his brains out. But—but, standing here now, his friend's life within his hands, could he do it?

_"It's the right thing to do," Lance grinned softly, his eyes trailing a shooting star slicing across the night sky. Arus was close enough to Earth that it still made Lance smile sometimes._

_It's the right thing to do._

But—

But Lance and Hunk had never been very good at doing the right thing. They were misfits and jokesters, clowns and tricksters. And liars. Behind him, struggling, but weak in his desperate state, Keith was screaming at him. Shiro was motionless. Pidge was gone, thank God. 

Hunk lurched forwards and Keith howled a last plea for him to stop. But he didn't. His hand holding Keith let go, and faster than the Red Paladin could react, he dropped his bayard and swallowed Lance in an embrace.

His arms clutched his friend mercilessly tight to his chest as he tried to hold his small trembling form together. He was ice cold against Hunk's body. His limbs frozen and stiff. He didn't move to hug him back. 

"Take it," Hunk murmured into Lance's neck, pressing his face close. "Take my warmth. Take whatever you need."  

Behind him, he could hear Keith's ragged breathing. But he ignored him, only telling him to go tend to Shiro and leave them be. 

Hunk crushed Lance to him, feeling the groan of their armour protest against the closeness. His hand weaved itself into Lance's hair the way he knew calmed him when he was upset, dragging up and down repeatedly. Lance needed repetition, in all aspects of his life. He was a creature of routine. He needed things to be repeated, over and over again, so he felt grounded and prepared. Like a hand making circles on his back, or the feel of another person's heartbeat against his body or even the constant reminders that he was just doing well in general. Hunk gave it to him, throwing all their terrible words out the window for the moment so he could give Lance one last piece of himself.

Like hell he could ever kill his best friend. What an idiot he was for ever thinking that.

If sparing his friend's life made him a coward, then he'd wear that word with pride every day of his life. 

"I don't want to die," Lance's voice came out as barely even a whisper, dry and cracked.

"You won't. You won't. You won't." Hunk repeated this into Lance's ear. And eventually he felt his friend sag against him, an exhausted weight inside Hunk's arms.

To his right, he caught a flicker of movement. Shiro. _Shiro._ With a long sword protruding out of his left shoulder. Keith was over him, shaking hands fussing over the Black Paladin as he murmured quiet words. Hunk's stomach heaved—if Shiro was dead Lance would never forgive himself. With dread heavy inside him, Hunk asked, "Is he alive?"

Keith, carefully shifting Shiro's head into his lap, nodded, eyes downcast and the startling red lines down his face still dripping blood. Surprisingly Shiro himself held up a hand, his robotic arm whirring with the movement. "I'm fine, Hunk. It's good to see you again."

"Ahhh, yeah, you too, Shiro." _Okay?_ Guess Shiro was used to being beaten like a rag-doll these days.

"Don't speak," Keith hissed, hands hovering over the hilt of the sword, unsure. Hunk knew what he was about to do and winced when he saw the Red Paladin set his face and then yank out the sword. Shiro merely grunted. _Way too used to this._

"Lance?" Shiro panted. Hunk saw his sweaty face turn to them, his dark eyes wide with worry. "Is he okay?"

"He's okay," Hunk affirmed. He was pretty certain Lance had already fallen asleep, actually, as he felt long even breaths against his collar bone.

There was a knock at the door, and everyone immediately jerked their heads up, ready for a fight. But it was Pidge who stood there, taking in the scene with trembling lips, but she held back her tears. Though she looked like she'd already shed a few.

"Pidge!" Keith choked, relief evident in his voice. "You're okay."

"Obviously." Her eyes scanned over Keith's face, Shiro's shoulder and then to Lance's slumped form. "The same can't be said for the rest of you."

No one argued with her there. Slowly, she picked her way around the debris in the room towards Hunk and Lance, looking like she might turn and run at any moment. Hunk invited her in with an open arm and she fell onto her knees with them instantly. Her thin arms went around Lance quickly, pulling him under her chin and clutching tight at his Galra armour. The three of them _—_ back where everything had begun all those months ago _—_ together again, holding onto each other for dear life. Hunk felt momentarily bad for leaving Keith and Shiro out, but this was their moment. Their moment to forgive and move on from every ugly thing that had happened between them all. They could have their moment later.  

It was only one step forward. But it was still a step nonetheless. 

It meant something.    

* * *

From her place inside her hanger, the Blue Lion roared—a mighty sound that ricocheted off all the castle walls.

 _Lance?_ Allura, at her controls, reached out with her mind. 

He didn't respond, but Blue did, a rumble inside her chest. 

_He is safe._

Allura sensed a 'but' in there somewhere.

 _But we still have a job to do. Come to me, Allura,_ she seemed to say.  _Come to me as a Paladin._    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Ha. So like. Finally good things happened? Do you forgive me?
> 
> Lol I hate writing fight scenes.


	19. Day Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor is having issues. The team cradles each other. A foolish decision for all the right *wrong* reasons.

_Press it._

Lotor's thumb quivered over the button. 

_Why can't I do it?_

He saw what happened, saw Blue attack then allow himself to be subdued. It had surprised Lotor, in an infuriating and humiliating way, when dear Blue he broke through his own mind and fought his way out again. Lotor had growled in anger when he saw him fall into his friend's arms, had wanted to break something when Black merely waved a hand in dismissal at Yellow's enquiry, clearly alive, and clearly thinking it were no big deal his comrade just stabbed him with a sword.

_Stop cradling each other, you Earth scum._

He'd been counting on Red to kill Blue in rage after attacking Black. Had been counting on that blood-thirst to fuel his inner Galra. Lotor hadn't anticipated any of this.

He hadn't anticipated _Yellow_. Had hardly even factored him into the equation. He swept in out of nowhere, knocking Lotor's plans flat on their ass like it was nothing. All through the power of a _hug._ _A hug_ had crushed Lotor's plans. How humiliating.

Of course, all was not lost. Voltron might not have torn itself apart like he had so eagerly been waiting for, however, the rest of the universe didn't need to know that.

"Witch," he commanded, his thumb still circling the button slowly. He stared at it with hateful eyes. Why couldn't he press it? "Broadcast the newest feed of dear Blue attacking Black. Cut out everything after Yellow arrives."  

"You wish to lie?" she cocked her head at him in his seat

"That's a terribly extreme term for it. I'm simply being selective of the truths I give. How the rest of the universe chooses to interpret what they see is up to them," he shrugged.  _Press it. Kill him._

His thumb didn't make a move.

"Why don't you kill him yet? He's disobeyed you." Haggar asked, as if sensing his current dilemma, her voice twisting with suspicion.

His eyes shot to the witch, glaring at her the same way he did at the damnable button. " _That_ is none of your concern. What should be a concern of yours right now is the fact you somehow managed to miss that one important factor: Blue and Yellow are _'best friends',_ as the Earthlings like to call it. Emotionally close enough that Yellow was able to break dear Blue out of his panicked state. How did you miss that, witch? You were in the same room as Red and Blue for days. I put them in a cell together next to you for exactly that reason. Prisoners _talk_  when they're locked up together. About anything to distract themselves. Talk about life, love, despair, their _best friends._ How did you miss Yellow's importance to Blue so easily? Did you fall asleep? Is your age getting to you?" he hissed, flashing his teeth dangerously. 

Haggar remained expressionless during Lotor's rage, though the hood mostly covered her expressions anyway. "Why won't you press the button, Prince?" she hissed, ignoring everything he'd just said. 

"You dare—"

"I dare to ask why the Prince of the Galra Empire, son of Zarkon himself, can't bring himself to kill one measly human like he said he would," the witch sneered. "After everything, is the Prince just a bastard sympathiser after all? You take in half-breeds, you take in all the scum of our Empire, inviting them all to join your forces. Do you want to take in this good for nothing human, too? After all this talk, are you really unable to kill? Like a true Galra would."

Lotor flew to his feet, a low snarl on his lips. Beside him Zethrid had begun to draw her weapon, looking at the witch like she wanted nothing more than to crush her beneath her mighty fists. "Hold your tongue, witch. Or I'll cut it from you."

"To borrow the Earth term," a voice appeared from behind him. _No._ "That's not very fucking polite." 

Before he could react, there was the sound of buzzing energy before something long and bright blue wrapped around his wrist. He turned to look behind him in shock just in time to see Princess Allura—that Altean _scum_ —yank her whip with frightening strength. There was the feeling lighting hot pain erupting up his entire arm from his wrist and then suddenly his hand was being ripped away from him, the trigger for Blue's capsule along with it, both flying straight through the air and into the Princess' waiting hand. Over her shoulder, she hauled a bulky bag and in her other hand, the one not currently holding Lotor's severed limb, was Blue's bayard, flashing dangerously as the whip receded backwards. She wore a pink version of the classic Paladin suit. Lotor decided he loathed the colour pink from now on. 

The sight of her smirk was more awful than the splatter of his blood pooling beneath his wound. It reminded him of Blue. 

Discarding his severed hand, the Princess took off in the opposite direction. Just as Lotor was about to roar for his Commanders to capture the Altean, the ship was rocked by a series of explosions. Attention back in front of him, to the giant screen, he was greeted by the awesome but frightening sight of the Blue Lion opening up its jaws as it prepared to fire. It looked like it could swallow them all. Its roar spoke pure hatred as its eyes seemed to zero in on Lotor. 

"Broadcast it, _now_!" he commanded, to anyone. _Anyone._ "Do it now!" 

He heard a quick, panicked confirmation from one of his subordinates before his entire world erupted into terrible light and heat. 

His last thought was still:  _Why couldn't I press it?_

* * *

The Paladins spent the next night in Keith's shitty shack.

They needed a break, Hunk had abruptly commanded the afternoon before, just after Lance woke up to find himself laid out on the musty couch again. His head was pillowed in someone's lap. When Pidge's voice washed over him he knew who it was. He relaxed into her hands, which had been making circles on the side of his head. Comforting. _Familiar._

Keith had been adamant that they needed to get Shiro to the castle and into a Pod, but ever a badass, Shiro assured them that all he needed was some disinfectant and a bandage, both of which Hunk retrieved from his lion. Shiro said he wanted to stay with his team. No one disagreed with him after that. Lance was only awake long enough to take in that short interaction before he was asleep again. Vaguely he thought there was something he should be worried about, an itch on the side of his neck he couldn't place.

He woke up again the next morning to the feeling of his head being shifted from one lap to another. His body felt light and unconstricted, and he realised someone had removed his Galra armour, leaving him in the thin black suit underneath. However, his entire body _ached._ From his stomach, to his head, to his ribs and his neck. Oh, and his cheek, the entire thing felt like it had been caved in. His memory was fading in and out like the filtering of sunshine through clouds—patchy, at best. He recalled Shiro, and the panic that coursed through his body at the sight of his leader, and then...the colour red, the gun against his face, and wetness all over his face, storm cloud eyes, and Hunk. 

_Hunk._

He'd been about to kill Lance, had his bayard pressed to his head, his face broken as he looked down at him. But he didn't. Lance was alive—living and breathing. On Keith's shitty couch in his shitty shack. The memories squeezed themselves back in painfully, like trying to shove Play-Doh through a funnel. Lotor. The _capsule._

His hand flew to his neck, where he felt the tiny bulge of the thing still inside him, and just above that a shallow graze where Keith's bullet had just missed fatally killing him. Lotor hadn't killed him yet? It had been hours since he'd given up his attack on Shiro, why was he still alive? The thought sent shivers through him, and the person above him could apparently feel it as he heard a voice ask, "Lance, are you awake?" 

_Shiro._

His eyes peeled themselves open, but instantly closed again when the light stabbed inside. He groaned, turning away and burying himself closer to the man currently cradling him.

"I'll take that as a yes." There was some shuffling next to him and then a shadow falling over his face. It blocked out a majority of the painful light, so Lance could finally open his eyes without the risk of blinding himself. As he did, Keith's distressed face slowly revealed itself; pale, and the same storm coloured eyes watching him from above.

He looked _awful._ Lance wanted to throw up seeing the long red marks he'd made on Keith's face. That, along with the burn mark from days ago, made him look like he'd stuck his face in a meat slicer. Lance did that, not the burn, obviously, but those lines down his face. The same kind of marks Lotor had left on him. Disgusting. Keith shifted slightly, but Lance's hand sprung out to grasp his shirt, keeping him in place. His dry mouth tried to speak but it only came out as a croak.

"Water. He needs water," Keith said, his eyes flashing.

"Got it!" came Pidge's voice.

Shiro's face, upside down from Lance's position in his lap, was creased with worry, the harsh lines he always had between his brows even more pronounced than usual. It matched Keith's. The two of them complimented each other so well it made Lance's heart crack a little. He wasn't sure why it did that whenever he thought about the two of them now. It was frustrating. Gradually, his eyes became more adjusted to the light, and he reluctantly let go of Keith's shirt (when had he changed?).

"I'm going to prop you up in a moment so you can drink," Shiro said, but then glanced at his shoulder, bandaged from his neck half way down his arm, and added, "On second thought, Keith will help you up."

Then he was being shifted again, Shiro moving out from under him and another set of hands coming to haul him up under his arms to lean on the backrest. Keith didn't move when Lance was sitting comfortably upright, and Shiro came to sit down on his left side, squishing him between the two. Honestly, he could probably move around himself just fine, he wasn't _that_ injured. But he was enjoying being looked after. It reminded him of home, when his parents looked after him if he was sick or injured. He was the youngest child—of course he enjoyed the attention.

He wondered where Hunk was. He wasn't in the shack, that was certain.

A glass of water was pressed into his hands, cool against his clammy hands, now free of those cursed gloves. Amusedly, he wondered who had been the one to undress him.

Pidge was crouched in front of him, glasses askew on her face as she grinned shyly up at Lance. "Glad you're back with us. We were taking turns at cradling you, but you're head's surprisingly heavy and kept giving us pins and needles. Who knew?"

Lance choked out a laugh, felt it come from deep within him in place he hadn't realised still existed, thought it had disappeared along with Shiro. "Sorry for being such an  _inconvenience_ for you, Pidgy."

"How are you feeling?" Shiro asked, his robotic arm coming around to rest behind Lance on the couch.

Lance took a sip of water, feeling it glide wondrously cool down his throat, soothing the pain left over from screaming like a manic yesterday. "Physically? I'm okay, but..." he broke off, unable to finish. 

Luckily Keith was getting better at reading him. _Worryingly_ better. "Mentally, not so much," he finished for him. His body was angled slightly towards Lance, warm, like he always was, but his eyes were downcast. "Are you ever going to tell me what Lotor was threatening you with? Your family?"  

Lance hesitated, taking another sip of water. "I—when I had that private meeting with him, he told me we were alike, me and him. Told me there was this darkness inside me. This thing that he had inside himself, too. He was trying to let it out, against you, and Shiro, I guess. Kolivan was right, he doesn't attack from the front. He got inside me, in my head he—"

Could he tell them about the capsule? Lotor was likely still watching them, and if he saw Lance give away the main reason for his actions, well, it would most certainly guarantee his death. But he hadn't pressed the button when Lance gave up. Could he have been bluffing the entire time? Had Lance done all those terrible things—knock Keith out, stab Shiro, attack Keith again, claw at his face—for nothing?

"Lance, stay here. This reality, please," Pidge said from below. She came to rest her arms and chin on Lance's knees, peering up at him through her glasses. There was a smirk on her face. Keeping everything as casual as possible. Like he needed. Bless her.

He grinned shakily down at her. "I'll try not to end up like Slav."

"Thank _God_ ," Shiro breathed next to him. And Lance actually laughed at this.

No one was angry at him. He didn't understand how they weren't tying him to a post and leaving him there to rot, but somehow, they were _forgiving_ him. Selfishly, he decided he wouldn't stop them.

"We're not mad at you, Lance," Keith said, his eyes still downcast, but his hand now hovering over Lance's on the couch. He was unsure, Lance realised. He suspected Lance would want this, his touch, _anyone's_ touch, but he was giving Lance an out incase he was uncomfortable. _He's remembering the time he grabbed me on the control deck_ , Lance thought. "We all played right into Lotor's hands, with Shiro as the exception. Thace was never really Thace in the end, probably. It's my fault for not thinking it through."

"It was my plan," Lance countered.

"Which I failed at," Pidge added. "I'm still learning this piloting thing. I let down the team."

"We _all_ let down the team," Hunk's voice came from the doorway. He was leaning back against the frame, eyes shut, looking conflicted. 

"Except for me, right?" Shiro asked, looking slightly bashful, his hand coming up to scratch at his undercut, which was beginning to grow out after days of being unkept.

" _Except for you_ ," the others agreed in exasperated tones.

"The point is," Hunk continued. "We all contributed to this gigantic meltdown. We all owe you an apology, Lance."

Lance shook his head. "Don't. This is all on me. Lotor was right, something inside me is seriously fucked up." He heard the three people around him gasp at his words.

"It's called _stress,_ Lance. You're not evil, or anything remotely close to Lotor. You were stressed, and anxious," Hunk argued, moving away from his place at the door to stand opposite them all on the other side of the table.

His hands coming to rest on his stomach, Lance responded, "But my stomach. It felt like something was inside it, slithering and trying to get out. When I blew up, it was like it finally escaped. It was controlling me."

Shiro's robotic hand whirred as it secured itself over Lance's shoulders, repeatedly running his fingers over the same spot on Lance's arm. Lance wanted to close his eyes at the gesture. "That's how I felt when I was in the gladiator ring. Stress can feel like a physical thing when it becomes extreme. I remember feeling like there was something scratching at the walls of my stomach when it got really bad, and when they put me in the ring, I could finally let it loose. You're not evil. You were just pushed too far."

Shiro's dark, narrow eyes watched him kindly, a small smile on his lips. It was the same smile he used whenever Lance came to him after one of his nightmares about Sendak.

"That makes sense, I suppose." Lance's hands fell from his stomach. He saw Keith's hand was still hovering awkwardly near him, so he decided to take the leap and grasp it within his own. There. Now they were all touching. A circle of idiots just _touching_ each other. Lance didn't know he needed this so much until now. 

 _If I might interrupt. Apologies, I was overhearing you all on the comms, but I only want to speak to you, Lance,_ came a voice inside Lance's head, causing him to jerk back. Keith was instantly alert, his eyes sharpening on Lance.

"Is it _him?_ " he snarled. 

Lance rose a single brow at him. "You ripped the comm out of my ear, remember? I can't hear him anymore. Cool your jets."

Keith looked away dejectedly, his shoulders slumping. "Right. Sorry. Allura, then?" Lance nodded. 

Hunk, across from them, cocked his head at this. "So you can actually communicate telepathically, then? That's pretty wicked." Shiro's brows shot up, and Lance heard him whisper something along the lines of, " _What the truck_?" Because there was no way  _Shiro_ would swear like that.  _No way._ He rejected it. 

"It's a Blue Lion thing," Lance shrugged. Then, silently,  _Hey, Allura._

_Hunk informed me that you were better now. I was so worried._

_I'm alright now, thanks to him. To all of them, really._

_I knew they wouldn't give up on you, even Hunk._

Lance felt himself wilt a little at the thought of Hunk nearly giving up on him. It was his own fault, and it would take long, long time to heal the gaping wound he'd created between the two of them. But it was his wound to fix.

 _What's the situation up there, Allura? Lotor,_ Lance hesitated,  _is he_ —  

_I took care of him._

If Lance could have sent questions marks over the link, he would have.

_Took care of him?_

_Blue is quite convincing when she's obliterating an entire battle cruiser all on her own. Lotor couldn't help himself but surrender your freedom._

Lance almost stopped breathing, his heart kicking up inside his chest. He noticed the others were staring at him with various degrees of raised brows.

_Allura, what did you **do**? _

_Blue is also really good convincing innocent Princesses who were minding their own business into dangerous missions against the Galra._ He could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

 _You're piloting Blue?_ he asked. 

_I hope you don't mind. Just for now._

_How? You said there was something she wanted you to do first._

_I think,_ she began,  _it was because I relinquished control to Hunk. I thought it was my responsibility to save you, but I realised Hunk had to be the one to bring you back. I merely had to inspire him, and perhaps frighten him just a fraction, too. When Blue called to me, she gave me a mission. I've got the trigger, Lance. We'll get that thing out of you._

Lance almost sobbed with the force of his amazement, his face stretching and pulling as he tried to hold himself together. He saw Pidge's mouth moving, enquiring to him, but all he could hear was his heartbeat. Closing his eyes, he pushed out a single, _Thank you,_ to Allura, hoping she could feel his gratitude.

 _Its what friends are for,_ was all she responded with.  _I'll be at your location soon._

"Lance," Shiro's voice filtered through. " _Please_ don't do a Slav on me. It's too early for that." 

"Sorry, sorry," Lance shook his heads. "Allura has a nice telepathic voice. Easy to get swindled into."

_I took care of him._

_He couldn't help himself but surrender your freedom._

_We'll get that thing out of you._  

He was free. Free to—

"Honestly I think marriage is on the cards for the two of us. She obviously wants me."

Everyone groaned, their heads dropping into their hands.

_Familiar._

* * *

Hunk, Pidge and Shiro were to leave early so they could bully Shiro into a healing Pod finally. As ridiculously strong as the Black Paladin was, he was still human, and he'd begun to run a fever later that day. Keith practically marched Shiro out the door and into the lion and Lance was surprised when he walked back through the door, commanding Pidge to go with Hunk and Shiro instead. 

"They're gonna pick up Green on the way, so get your ass outta here before they leave."

With one last hug, her hands clamping onto Lance with surprising strength, Pidge raced out the door. Which left Lance and Keith alone. Keith stood awkwardly at the door while Lance curled himself up on the couch. He still felt fragile—felt like moving would shatter some delicately put together part of himself.

"You know we could go with them and meet Allura at the castle instead? We don't have to stay here," Keith said, his eyes sweeping over the mess in the room. Broken glass, scattered books and papers and the unsettling splatter of blood on the walls and floor. Lance understood why Keith wanted out so bad. But Lance wasn't ready.

Not yet.

He shook his head. "I just want a little longer, here, on Earth, before I have to face everything. Before it becomes real again. We can go outside if being inside makes you uncomfortable."

Keith snorted, moving further inside the room. "It's like a billion degrees out there. Not a chance."

"Fair enough."

Silence, again. It tickled the hairs along the back of Lance's neck, like someone was blowing on him from behind. He curled his arms closer around his knees, pulling himself into a tight ball.

"Keith—" 

"Don't," Keith growled, sweeping down to sit down on the couch besides Lance. "Don't apologise."

"I wasn't."

Keith's face froze mid scowl. "Oh." He looked, dare Lance say it, disappointed.

 _Oh, he was looking forward comforting me. He's trying to learn how to do this properly._  

"I was going to tell you why I did what I did," Lance went on to say.  

"You already told us. Lotor convinced you that you were evil or something." Keith shuffled a little closer and Lance felt his knee brush his side as he pulled his legs beside him. 

Shaking his head, Lance said, "That wasn't all of it. He wanted me to control you into 'becoming the Galra you were born to be'." He used air quotes to emphasise this. "He was using me to get to you. He wanted to catch Shiro to use as a trophy, and he wanted to use you as a weapon against Allura. I was just a means to an end for him." 

"Oh. So that's why—" 

"That's not the only reason though. He put—" 

"Lance, I don't care anymore. Watching you talk about him is like watching a mirror crack." A metaphor? From the king of 'bad with words?' Perhaps Lance really had brainwashed him. "It causes you pain. Stop talking about him. Stop even thinking about him." 

Lance complied, knowing Keith was right and curling his hands around himself again. Keith was watching him with the same intensity burning inside his eyes as when he was piloting, like Lance was a challenge for him to overcome. Something he wanted to fight for. He also looked vulnerable, though. In the same instant, his eyes begging for something from Lance. Lance, knowing what he'd learnt from the last few days being locked up with the Red Paladin, understood.

He understood Keith's strange ways. 

Emotionally inept—untrained. He didn't even understand how to ask for a hug. 

Lance opened an arm to him, his eyes flicking away self-consciously. He'd never hugged Keith before, not including when he was half delirious with his own fear, that was. It made him nervous. Keith tackled everything like it was a mission, and Lance was afraid he'd approach the hug like he flew his lion. With speed and precision. Something to get over and done with. Not like Hunk hugged, where he took his time, slowly enveloping Lance and rubbing his hand repeatedly through his hair.

He expected to be barrelled into with the weight of eighteen years' worth of deadly ferocity.

He didn't expect Keith's hand to reach out and gently cup Lance's face, pulling him in close as his other hand smoothed over his shoulder. Lance choked back a yelp as Keith brought their faces close together, their noses brushing, where he paused, his breath ghosting over Lance. The hand on his shoulder dragged up to cup the other side of his face and Lance swallowed. When Keith pressed forwards again, his lips ghosting—hardly even a touch—over Lance's, his heart stopped. He wanted this, he realised. But—

He yanked himself backwards as the image of Keith on this very couch doing the exact same thing with Shiro flashed before him. Pain shot through his chest at the thought.

_No._

"What?" Keith asked, his hands still on Lance's face, keeping them close together. They were warm against his cold cheeks and Lance struggled not to lean into him as his fingers delicately brushed over the painful wound on his cheek. Almost whined at denying himself this. This amazing closeness. "Did—did I read this all wrong?" Lance's heart splintered as he heard the uncertainty in Keith's voice.

"Yes. Yes you did," he said raggedly. Fighting the pull. It was a trap, being this close to someone you like (Yes, Lance had finally drawn that conclusion) was dangerous. "I nearly killed Shiro. I practically tore your face open. I'm—still not emotionally capable of making decisions. And most importantly, you're in love with Shiro."

Keith had drawn back slightly, one hand falling to rest on his knee. His stormy eyes were wide and searching. "Shiro," he said, like he was testing the name on his tongue. "I can't have him."

"So that means you can just try me out instead?" Lance bit back, wincing at his tone. He _knew_ Keith didn't mean it that way. But he'd spent so long being used like that by girls in the Garrison that the familiar taste of the situation struck the wrong cord within him.

"Lance. It's not like that," Keith's voice cracked. "It's just, after everything. I thought Hunk would kill you. I'm just—"

"Emotionally strung out. Shiro said it makes people do weird things before, remember? Things they wouldn't usually do. For example." Lance gestured between the two of them. Keith's eyes frowned with realisation. On Lance's cheek, his hand was trembling. "You don't really want this, Keith."

"Don't tell me what I do and don't want," he snapped. He looked caught between pushing Lance away and pulling him closer, the skin of his face strained with indecision. The angry red marks on his face looked terrible as they stretched out even further. 

Lance's eyes burned. "Let go, Keith."

_Don't do this to me._

Keith's eyes lit up defiantly. "No."

" _Keith._ " 

"You don't get to decide what I feel, Lance."

 _Well,_ Lance thought with defeat,  _it wouldn't be us if everything wasn't a competition._

* * *

Outside the window, neither of the two Paladin's noticed the shadow of an approaching figure, or the weapon in their hand.         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> A LONG one tonight. I started last night but was unhappy so I waited until tonight. 
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin: Reallife me  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean: Aesthetic me  
> I encourage you to follow me because I'm kinda funny at times? 
> 
> Allura and her whip had me so I needed to include it. tbh this is the real Shiro, not that fake ass wannabe from the show. Nothing but the real thing for me. 
> 
> Probs heaps of mistakes I didn't pick up on lol.
> 
> You should have seen me trying to figure out Shiro's rights and lefts for his robot arm/injured arm. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!!


	20. Day Twenty-Five: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new enemy, but not really. Shiro is stressed (but that's normal, right?) A mistake is made.

Acxa despised many of the missions Lotor had given her in the past. Namely, retrieving scaultrite from the belly of the Weblum and thus getting herself stuck for several hours until the Red Paladin had...graciously come to her rescue. She also despised the time she'd been tasked with the unpleasant job of retrieving the Marmora spy's burnt body so that the witch could get a decent reference for her to replicate his form. There was also that time on that planet that smelt like faeces no matter how much her helmet filtered out the air. Point was, she'd been on plenty of unpleasant missions in her life, but none more so than this one.

Lotor wanted her to kill. The one thing he'd promised her she'd never have to do.

When Acxa received that last transmission from him only hours before she heard the mighty boom of something massive entering the atmosphere—the entire front end of the Prince's fallen battle cruiser (she imagined the humans going wild at _that_  particular sight)—she knew something had gone askew. That he'd been defeated, and this might be the last mission he'd ever bestowed on her. It _was_ very likely that he wasn't actually dead, he had a knack for surviving worst case scenarios after years avoiding assassins and would-be murderers sent by rival Galra royals.

But he'd _promised_ that she would never have to kill. 

_"I won't ask you to kill. You're not some halfwit Galra with a thirst for blood. Your purpose is greater than that, I can see it, and if you work for me, I can give it to you. That thing that you've been searching for. Your family."_

She'd believed every word he'd said. It was her first and only mistake.

_"Kill the Blue Paladin. It will destroy his Galra lover. It will destroy Voltron."_

_"But, Prince—"_

_"Do it! Failure is not an option," his voice broke through the comm with frantic a growl she'd never heard before. He sounded desperate, making up things as he went along._

That wasn't Lotor. Lotor carefully constructed his plans with pin-point accuracy, always avoiding having to murder anyone as he didn't believe it was an effective mode of gaining power. But if he wanted the Blue Paladin dead, why didn't he do it himself? He had the trigger, didn't he?

Lotor had been backed into a corner, she realised.

And now he wanted Acxa to kill. It was the one time she doubted her abilities on a mission. She couldn't possibly—

Not here, not Earth, where she'd spent so many years of her life before she'd begun to...change. This was as much her home as the Galra Empire. He'd sent her here only to gather intel on the Paladins, not to kill anyone. 

Acxa checked her ammo for the third time in a row as she approached the shack where Lotor had indicated. It was a rather unremarkable thing, small and lonely in the middle of the desert. The sun felt like something large and terrible was breathing hot air down on to her. It made her shift uncomfortably beneath her armour. Had Lotor been lying the entire time? She'd trusted him with that promise, had given it to him for safekeeping over the past few years she worked for him. Why didn't he do it himself?

Why wasn't he the one to kill the Blue Paladin?

Unless—

All these questions were swirling through her head, a million miles an hour, an endless torrent, as she raised her hand with her weapon and aimed it at the slightly taller shadow in the window. Maybe it wouldn't count if she didn't see his face.

* * *

"Let go, Keith."

_Don't push me away. Not now._

"No." 

Lance's eyes burned into him, a warning written clearly inside. _"Keith."_

"You don't get to decide what I feel, Lance."

 _What **do** you feel? _ an annoyingly logical part of him whispered.

Keith didn't move his hand from Lance's face. He was determined now. Lance always did that to him. Pushed him, poked at his barriers, drove him on even as he told Keith to stop.

"You don't like me, at least not like this. We just spent a lot of time together under stressful circumstances and you're reacting on instinct. You're happy we're alive. That's all," Lance tried to reason. He could have easily pulled out of Keith's grip, but his face remained where it was, inches from Keith's. Temptation. He was tempted. 

Keith could see the bruises he'd put on Lance's face blossoming into a vast array of blues and purples. He could see the tiny specs of blood he'd missed when he washed Lance's face clean of his own blood. He could see the faint sheen of sweat on his pointed nose. Maybe Keith didn't like Lance, not like that. But he liked him like _this._ Close, alive, breathing—just living, in the same moment as Keith. He smelt awful at the moment, but Keith still wanted to bury his face into his neck—or anywhere, really—and breathe him in, because it was him. A living person, who Keith had come so close to ending with his own two hands. 

Hunk's hands, too, nearly did the same—they'd hovered over the trigger for a moment, dangerously unsteady. Keith remembered the feeling of his screams tearing up his throat at the sight of Hunk a second away from killing his best friend. But then he'd embraced Lance instead, and Lance broke through finally, came back to them. Keith remembered the strange stab of jealousy at the sight of Hunk being the one to hold Lance together, the spike of anger when he'd ordered Keith to tend to Shiro instead.

He thought about the casual way Hunk and Lance always touched, or sat with each other, always pressed in close like it was the most natural thing in the world. Keith had wondered what it would be like. He'd thought about what it would be like with _Shiro_ , had looked for excuses whenever he touched a hand to the Black Paladin's shoulder, wanted to tug Shiro in and do the same as Hunk and Lance. Do it _better._ Now, he the thought about what it would be like with Lance, to just constantly _touch,_ even in the simplest most mundane of ways. Lance gave Hunk that touch so willingly, and Keith wanted it for himself.      

If everything between him and Lance was a competition, Keith intended to win this one.

His heart sent blood roaring through his body, rushing to his head almost dizzyingly fast. 

Experimentally, Keith pressed forwards again, touching his lips teasingly to Lance's for a second—not even a kiss, just a touch—and dragging them downwards, feeling the iciness of Lance's lips against his burning ones. Lance hesitated, like he was straining against some invisible restraints, before he pulled back once again, a frustrated groan tearing out of him. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Keith's hand didn't move. He narrowed his gaze on Lance's flushed face.  _Do something, asshole._

Lance did nothing, just opened his eyes and stared back at Keith with wide, conflicted eyes. This was so unfair of Keith. So,  _so_ unfair for Lance to have to be the one to bear his weird impulses. But he couldn't stop even if he tried. So, he didn't try. He'd always been one to test boundaries, toeing at them for only a moment before he threw himself all in. 

 _Do you even like Lance?_ a voice whispered. 

_Does it matter?_

He was here, alive, right in front of Keith's eyes. And it felt  _good._

"Are you still mad at me?" he blurted out suddenly, not intending to, but once it was out he felt like he needed an answer. It was important if he intended to go for this...this _thing._ "For being a dick to you when Shiro disappeared?"

Lance finally pulled back, Keith following him for a second, craving the feeling of Lance's skin under his, until he reluctantly let go. "Jesus, you're still on that? I forgave you pretty much the moment we were on Lotor's ship. You were good to me, even while I was using you. Equivalent exchange, right? At least one of us has to be an ass to the other at all times?"

"That's all in your head."

"Whatever," Lance said, leaning back on the couch, looking dejected and a little miserable. Was that Keith's fault? For moving in on him like that? He hated the thought that he might have ruined something fragile between them but—it just felt right at the time. It always happened like that in those action movies his father used to show him before he disappeared. Keith thought that was how it worked. A big grand kiss at the end of a mission, and Lance seemed like the kind of person who would enjoy it. He wanted fireworks, right? What was more explosive than a kiss at the end of a life threatening mission? Keith was outstandingly confused. Maybe he should stick to being a loner after all.  

_Did you ever ask if he liked boys?_

No. He didn't. But he'd caught the looks Lance sometimes gave him...and Hunk, and Shiro. He thought—

"You know you should probably be going up to the castle, too," Lance said, changing the subject like he always did when he was uncomfortable. "Those marks on your face look pretty terrible, almost worse than that mullet."

Keith had a snappy retort on his tongue, but it never came as the sound of a crash behind them—then the sudden, terrible, feeling of something acid hot glancing off his shoulder narrowly avoiding killing both him and Lance—cut him off. It smashed into the wall opposite them, causing the entire shack to shutter in its wake. Lance and Keith didn't draw a breath for an entire second, and then they were both diving to the floor just as two more shots shattered the rest of the window, glass raining down on them both. Lance came in close and hurriedly asked, "Where's the gun of yours? I left the one from Lotor in the jet, which I left a long way from here." 

Hands over his head as he shook the glass from his hair, Keith answered, hoarse, "Over there!" He pointed to the place where he'd mercilessly beaten Lance's face in with the gun, which still lay there—still covered in Lance's blood. Lance instantly lunged, glass shards flying off him, towards the gun just as another set of rounds pounded into the opposite wall. They were haphazard and unorganised now, unlike the first precise shot that nearly tore through Keith's shoulder. Whoever was out there was taunting them now, trying to lure them out exactly to where they needed them. 

From the other corner of the room, Lance crouched and held his gun in his hands at the ready. They were completely steady, moving surely over the weapon as he checked his ammo. 

"There's only a few rounds in here," he commented, looking disappointed. 

Keith flinched as another round of shots blasted through the walls, coming closer, gradually moving from one end of the shack to the other, trying to lure them out of the entrance, he realised. 

Despite the absolute fucking backflip of a situation, Keith grinned mischievously at Lance. "Well, I guess you had better make them count."

Lance didn't return his grin, but Keith saw his eyebrow cock up in amusement as he turned his attention on the window. He crept forwards and took a careful peak over the ridge. The moment he ducked back under the seal a single shot fired right where his face had previously been. Keith's teeth clenched together. He was still crouched awkwardly between the coffee table and the couch. He was utterly useless in this situation—pinned down, weaponless and his enemy, invisible. This was Lance's territory. It left a bitter taste in his mouth watching Lance splay out his life so tediously while Keith cowered in the corner. After this, he intended to ask Lance for some gun lessons, maybe teach him to use a sword while he was at it. Lance himself looked tense, kept holding his neck at an odd angle, his hand rising to brush over the skin every so often, like he was protecting something.

The sensation of Lance's living, breathing body so close to his only moments ago washed over him suddenly, forcing a gasp out of him. He imagined it cold and stiff instead. Dead. 

_No._

_Nonononononono._

That was not an outcome Keith could accept. He promised Lance he'd get out of this alive.

A low growl grazed up his throat, sharp enough he could almost taste blood on his tongue. He was going to tear this fucker apart when he got the chance. 

* * *

Shiro felt the strange urge to cry again as Hunk ploughed through Earth's atmosphere and back up to the castle. Had seen the shrinking image of Earth gradually slip away and felt like something had been crudely taken from him. Someone kept dangling Earth before him, his _home_ , and just as he reached for it, it was stolen from him. Yanked away. Earth was a dream he wasn't allowed to have. Not until the Galra were taken down. But who knew how long that could take? Shiro was loyal to his duties, first and foremost, and stuck with them to the end. But he couldn't help thinking he'd rather just be left in peace on Earth. He thought he was ready to come back, but it was a different story when you were seeing your home grow smaller and smaller.

All it had taken was a taste of peace, twenty-fours days of it, and he was hooked.

"Shiro? You okay?" Pidge asked. They were both crouched behind Hunk in the pilot's seat. Hunk still looked bitter and confused, his face in a constant state of change, but he was adamant to get the job done. Not for the first time, Shiro wondered what on earth happened to the team while he was away. Felt guilt stab through him as he thought back to these past selfish days he'd spent on Earth.

He smiled down to Pidge. "I'm fine. Just looking forward to a few hours in the Pod, is all."  

"You look like you've been swallowing lime juice for the last hour," Hunk commented. "What's up?" 

Shiro frowned, his head dropping between his shoulders and Pidge watched him with concern. She'd been looking at everyone like that since she arrived in the shack, always keeping a careful eye out for them all.  

He sighed, brokenly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all this. If I didn't disappear then none of this would have happened. I should have tried harder to get back to you all."

Pidge and Hunk were silent for a beat.

Dropping her head down along with Shiro's, Pidge said, "You know. The Garrison used to say that units like ours should be able to operate even if their squad leader is taken out. The leader is there to act as a guide, not a crutch. We fell apart." Her small face was serious, eyebrows scrunched together in that concentrated way of hers. "That's on us, not you. We let you down. There was nothing you could do from Earth."

"Pidge—" Shiro started. 

"She's right," Hunk interrupted, clipped and sharp, so unlike his usually easy going nature. Keith had explained that Hunk and Lance had an awful fallout, and despite Hunk embracing Lance, they were still struggling to make ends meet. "We owe you an apology. As your team, we failed and nearly cost ourselves Lance because of it. We'll do better next time."

Shiro was floored over the way these two had matured in such a short period of time. Both proud and devastated for them at the same time. In the same moment they'd gained their maturity they seemed to have lost their youth. Far too early, in Shiro's opinion; this war ripping it away from them like it always did.

His shoulder throbbed and he shifted as the pain snaked its way through his entire body. He felt sweat slick down his temple, was honestly feeling awful, but forced out a smile. "I'm proud of you. All of you. Despite all this happening. We'll fix it."

He saw Pidge's shoulders drop in relaxation, as if his words were exactly what she needed in that moment. Just, to be reassured that everything would be okay.

* * *

Lance didn't know what the fuck they should do.

The asshole who currently had them pinned down, spraying the shitty shack full of bullets, was obviously Galra. Lance recognised the uniform. They were one of Lotor's Commanders, too. A problem, even on a good day.

This was not a good day.

They should have left with the rest of the team. But no, Lance had to stay here and sniff up a few more tears first.  

As the bullets gradually moved from right to left, corralling Lance and Keith into the far end of the shack, right next to the exit, Lance wondered if Lotor was still alive, perhaps drawing his final card. 

_Allura? Keith and I are pinned down by a Galra troop. How far away are you?_

_I'll be there in five doboshes. Hold yourselves until I arrive. Blue's going as fast as she can._

_Right, we'll do our best._

Lance was over this. 

Keith, crouched beside him, their shoulders pressed tightly together, hissed violently between his teeth as a set of shots just barely missed them. The next set would definitely not miss them. They had to make a break for it. Barrel out of the door and race their skinny asses out of there. Lance could potentially do some covering fire, however, a crappy handgun with three rounds against a Galra blaster would surely be useless to them. But it was all they had. Shiro had taken the Galra sword with him incase there was a poison on it that needed to be identified.  

"Keith," he grit out. "We need to make a break for it. If we can get to your hover bike in time we can get out of here."

"They'll be expecting us."

Lance made a fluttering gesture with his hands and Keith winced when the gun came too close to his face. "Duh. But what other option do we have?"

Keith's eyes caught his and stared, hard, stormy and narrowed. Lance returned his intensity. With a sigh Keith eventually nodded, closing his eyes as he made up his mind. "Yeah, okay, you're right." 

Lance held up his gun, he could feel his own dried blood on the weapon crack as his grip tightened. "On my mark, you're gonna race that ass of yours to your hover bike, I'll follow and cover you."

"How many rounds _exactly_ do you have, Lance?"

"Enough."

" _Lance._ " 

" _Keith,_ just follow the plan. This asshole wants to finish the job for Lotor. They won't give us time to think about this any longer. Let's  _go._ " 

"Right,"Keith resigned, gearing himself up. 

They shot out the door, Keith kicking it open with merciless strength, just as a set of shots blasted through the wall where they'd just been. Then they were sprinting, the sound of multiple shots following them, pushing out the last ounce of energy Lance had left as they raced towards the hover bike. _Why did Shiro park it so far away?_ Lance had time to grumble.

He had his weapon pointed out towards the general direction of their hunter, but he didn't shoot. He couldn't afford to waste any shots while they were moving. He just had to hope they could run fast enough. The enemy's bullets were basically on his heels by the time they ducked behind the hover bike, a few of them pinging off the metal with teeth clenching sharpness. 

It was here Lance needed to get a shot in. He had some form of cover to allow him the split second he needed to make the shot. The problem was, he'd never used a handgun before, was used to his rifle, the weight and the length both familiar to him. This tiny thing in his hand felt completely foreign.

_Doesn't matter._

_Just make the shot regardless so you and Keith can get the fuck out of there. You have no choice._ Het set himself up, peering over the wing of the bike as he lined up his shot. He saw them, a slim, tall figure—a target.

 _Kill them,_ something inside him hissed.  _Make the Galra scum pay for what they did to you._

Shaking his head clear of the thoughts, Lance settled his finger on the trigger, letting out a deep, deep breath as he sighted along the tiny barrel and squeezed. The bullet launched itself out, slicing towards the Galra just as they fired their own weapon. Lance saw in that split second where their shot would strike; straight to his head, killing him instantly. Felt rooted to the spot as he watched the purple light come for him, like a hand, reaching closer and closer.

Everything slowed to a crawl, his own bullet heading on its intended path beautifully as the other did the same, crossing paths. Would this be Lance's final moment? At least it was kind of awesome. 

_Nope._

Because there was a hand shoving him sideways to the ground, and a weight following its wake as he landed painfully on his back. The shot whizzed over top of Keith and Lance's heads as he heard his own bullet strike his opponent. Heard them yell. _A girl._

Keith was panting hard above him, looking down at Lance with terrified eyes. It was then Lance noticed where Keith's hand was: pressed hard right into the side of his neck, where the capsule lay beneath his skin. A second later Lance jerked as he felt something cold begin to expand from that spot, spreading like ice through his veins and into the rest of his body. Pain soon followed. It was like someone had pressed hundreds of pieces of ice under his skin, the cold burning him the same way acid would.

 _The capsule._ It was broken. Which gave Lance approximately two minutes before he was dead. 

He hardly even noticed that his body had begun convulsing until he heard Keith cry out his name in panic. There were warm hands at his shoulders, shaking him, trying to get his attention, and Keith's voice raw with terror. Lance's face was angled sideways on the ground, cheek pressed into the scorching desert floor and his arm splayed out before him, the gun still in his hand. As he sighted along his arm, his vision beginning to cloud over—his body still convulsing as he felt something wet and metallic tasting at the back of his throat—he saw the Galra rising shakily to their feet, a hand pressed to their shoulder. He could see red dripping down to ground.

_Huh, so they bleed red, too?_

They were raising their weapon again, and Keith was oblivious, still screaming and shaking Lance. Totally unaware of the danger.  _Unaware of his surroundings,_ Pidge had once pointed out during training. 

_Dumbass._

Lance himself couldn't speak, felt his mouth go slack as his lungs screamed for air. He couldn't breathe anymore; the pain having eaten away his ability to function. But he was still conscious, could still move his arm, and could still see a target before him. He noticed the Galra hesitate, as if second guessing themselves, their hand pausing as it lifted to fire. His chance!

He raised the gun again, hazily sighting his way down the barrel. His world tilted. But his hand was steady. He'd always had steady hands. In the days when he used to knit with his mother she'd always comment on how balanced and controlled his hands were. 

_"They're beautiful," she'd say, her eyes soft._

_Mum. I was so close._

With his last conscious thought, he fired.

He blinked and he saw the Galra fall to the ground, clutching their side, whining with pain.

He blinked and his face was being tugged towards the storm clouds above him.

He blinked and it was raining, wet and cold against his face.

He blinked—

Thought he heard the roar of an enraged beast. 

The colour blue came into mind. 

He blinked—

And there was nothing.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story/characters belong to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Follow me on:  
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean
> 
> Wow I'm tired but that was fun to write. Hope you didn't die, like I did? 
> 
> xoxoxox


	21. Day Twenty-Five: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura and Blue have a common goal. Acxa has some regrets. Keith, not happy.

When Allura felt her breath violently ripped from her chest, she knew something terrible had happened to Lance. Then Blue roared with anguish a moment later and Allura's own awful, enraged cry clawed its way up her throat to join the lion as she pushed the controls even harder. Blue was already at full capacity, but somehow—and Allura could feel this—she pushed herself beyond her own capabilities, her speed matching that of the Red Lion. She could feel Blue's icy rage hiss inside her mind.

Terror choking her like a fist around her throat, Allura tried reaching out to Lance, but flinched back with a gasp when she felt the fingers inside her mind only slip through thin air. It wasn't like when Lance had been corrupted; that had been like coming up against a brick wall. This—this was like reaching for a limb you didn't know you'd lost.

 _Lance,_ she tried again, her blood roaring in her ears. They were about a dobosh away now, but it felt like forever when she received no response from him in return.  

 _Blue,_ she tried instead.  _Is Lance..._ She couldn't finish the thought, it would feel too real if she did. 

All she received from the lion was another wrathful roar. Allura was certain that the lion was basically flying herself now, knew she could take her hands off the controls and it wouldn't make a difference. She was being driven by her Paladin, her  _true_ Paladin, despite him not being the one in the pilot's seat. It was something more than that. It went deep, beyond Allura's own understanding of the lions. She knew the they were sentient, but she had no idea to what extent. 

She was now beginning to understand. 

So, she kept her hands on the controls, not to pilot the lion, but to support her as Allura felt the weight of the mighty beast's devastation come crashing down in one catastrophic moment. 

* * *

Acxa was on the ground. The curious sensation of her body being drained of something vital sweeping through her. She felt it leeched out of her, soaking into the dry desert ground as quickly as it landed, as if the land was thirsty for her blood.

Perhaps it was—after what she'd just done.

Acxa thought back.

She'd missed her first few shots on purpose, her confidence slipping when she watched the two shadows behind the curtains move so closely together. Intimate. They were sharing a moment. Then she'd become frustrated, so she began to draw the two Paladins out to hopefully hit the Blue Paladin in the back as they made a break for it. Had hoped she wouldn't need to see his face.

But then he'd taken that shot at her, and she'd seen his face, Acxa's helmet automatically zooming in on him as a target. Blue eyes; wide, round and focussed on her as he lined up his shot with his pathetic looking weapon. So overwhelming _human_. It'd been the first time she'd seen a human face on her home planet in years.  

They'd fired at the same time, and she'd yelled in pain when his bullet tore through her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. Somehow, Acxa missed _again,_ however, that was the fault of the Red Paladin shoving his lover to the ground. When she'd looked towards them from her place on the ground, her heart stopped.

Acxa had missed the Blue Paladin, but he was still dying right before her very eyes. The sight of the Red Paladin bent over top of him, screaming and screaming, had caught her off guard. The anguish she saw on his face as he watched the boy beneath him begin to convulse and cough up great globs of blood so shocking she'd hesitated when raising her gun. 

She'd been so caught off guard that she didn't notice the Blue Paladin aiming his own weapon and firing again, catching Acxa in her side. She'd fallen once again, and didn't get up.

Lying on the ground now, she could see the Red Paladin grasping his lover's face in his hands, the zoom in her helmet focussing on the crystal-like tears that dripped down his cheeks. His devastation cut through her like a knife, even more painful than the bullet had been. _The capsule._ The Red Paladin must have knocked it when he shoved the other boy to the side. This was Acxa's doing. She'd killed one of her own kind on his home soil.

She didn't care if the earth below her drained her dry. She deserved it. 

Acxa wished, for the first time, that Lotor had never rescued her from Earth in the first place.

_He held his hand out to her, where she was crouched against the wall, freezing and hungry—abandoned. "Join me. I'll provide you with whatever you require, all that I request in return is your loyalty. I'll give you your family back."_

_"My family is dead to me," she hissed between shaking lips._

_He frowned down at her, then crouched to be at eye level, the rain pouring down dripped over his purple face, the same colour her's was now. "I'm sure your mother would be devastated to hear that."_

_Acxa's eyes widened. "My mother—"_

_"Your **real** mother," he emphasised. "She spoke fondly of you both, regretted having to leave the two of you behind. I can take you to her, if you'd like." _

Acxa had been a fool to think Lotor would keep any of his promises. She  _knew_ him, knew the way he lied and deceived those around him. But Acxa had hoped she was different to him—an exception. 

No, she'd always been a tool, and she'd given him exactly what he wanted. Her loyalty, so he could wield her like this when he couldn't kill himself. But he had been correct about the Red Paladin, she thought in her haze, when she saw him rise, saw his face contort from devastation to pure, undiluted hatred. That hatred zeroed in on her, his eyes turning into thin slits as he launched himself towards her. She noticed his hands were covered in his lover's blood as they came to wrap around her throat.

Just before she passed out, she thought, with sad amusement, how laughable it would be if this were her brother she'd spent so many years searching for.  

* * *

It was cruelly ironic, yet fitting, that he was the Red Paladin, Keith thought as he looked down at the blood that covered his hands, stark and hideous against his pale skin. 

Cruel, as his wide eyes stared at the blood dribbling in thick clumps out of Lance's mouth, which was loose and unmoving. 

Cruel, when he noticed the same colour blooming inside the whites of his lifeless eyes.

Cruel, when his shaking hands left bloody fingerprints on Lance's wrist as he searched for a heartbeat.

Cruel, when he found none.

Ironic, that Keith's vision went red when he glanced over to the fallen Galra.

Ironic, that they bled the same colour as Lance.

Ironic, that the sky was bleeding that same red as the sun slowly began to set.

Keith's entire body felt numb as he slumped over the person that had been so _alive_ only minutes before. The heart he could feel beating against his body before, dead. The hands which always moved so energetically during conversations, still. The eyes that always spilled out with light, unseeing.

A low whine began to build up from deep inside him, starting from somewhere close to his heart and clawing its way out. It slowly built up into a ragged, hoarse cry, echoing through the lifeless desert. It was ironic, too, that the desert was also red; the dusty ground looked stained with blood, as if it were bleeding. Before Keith could even process what he was doing, he rose unsteadily to his feet, his bloody hands hanging loosely by his sides. His back was arched as he felt agony roll through is body in waves. Felt the wetness on his face. Felt the way his voice continued to be ripped out from inside him.

This was his fault. He'd felt something strange give way as his hand met Lance's neck. He'd thought it was the tracker they'd hidden inside him for Allura to follow, but he'd been horribly mistaken.

Now

        Now

                _Now_ —

_Lance._

_LANCE._

Something trembled inside him. Hatred. 

 _Not this again_. Not this terrible thing inside him rearing its ugly head. He thought it disappeared when Shiro first returned to him—when he'd first laid hands on him after he arrived.

This was Keith's fault—

                                          But if it wasn't for that Galra—

The same one from the Weblum—

Lance would still be breathing, would still be waving his hands around in that way of his, would still be looking at Keith with those blue eyes. 

Keith should have left them inside the Weblum to rot. 

—And then he was launching himself towards the fallen Galra, the swift satisfying memory of how Lance had still made that final shot fuelling him forwards. There was a wretched cry on his lips as he brought his hands toward their throat, tugging their helmet off as he did. He wanted to _see_ their face as they realised the gravity of their decision. Wanted to see the light drain out of their eyes as their mouth went slack. Wanted to feel their last breath before their existence drew to a close. Distantly, he could hear a roaring, and the great whir of something powerful getting closer and closer. But the ringing inside his ears soon took over, becoming the only thing he could hear. 

When his hands removed the helmet and closed over their throat something about this Galra struck him as inherently wrong. The eyes that looked up to him fearfully reminded him of something—something, that, in this frenzied state of his, he couldn't recall. All they were to him was a future body, the source of all his rage, something for him the squeeze the life out of. And he did, clenching his hands mercilessly tight around their soft neck, feeling the skin give way to his nails, the straining of the tendons and muscles underneath.

But they didn't try to remove his hands.

In fact, their eyes were almost calm as they stared up at him, as if they had accepted this already. He saw tears in the corners of their eyes.

_Fucker._

_You don't deserve them._

There was the feeling of the ground beneath him shifting as something cast a huge shadow over them, and Keith felt the strong gust of hot air blast into him. His messy hair flew around his face, but he didn't let up his assault on the asshole beneath him. Felt insane pleasure slither through him as their eyes began to roll into the back of their head. He leant in close, wanted to feel that last desperate breath of theirs against his face, wanted to taste it.

_Keith._

Was that his name?

_Keith!_

Was that a hand against his collar?

Whatever, he didn't care.    

_Let go!_

Something smacked painfully into the side of his head, agony flashing white and hot across his vision as it reopened the wound Lance had left previously. But he didn't budge.

He did look up, though.

Saw a familiar pair of bright eyes, a dark complexion and silvery hair, now short, curling against their neck with sweat. They were saying words to him, he could tell because their mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear any of it. Could only hear the the ringing inside him. He thought he saw a flash of yellow bounce off their face, and the frightened widening of their eyes. However, both were gone in a flash.

Then—

They were raising their arm and something flashed in front of him—a face. As familiar to him as the sound of his own heartbeat. He blinked, as if waking up from a dream, feeling tears fall over his cheeks and splash onto the Galra beneath him. The eyes on the screen stared at him, drawn and tired.

_Shiro._

His hands loosened a fraction, the body beneath him coughing haggardly as he let up. 

"Keith," Shiro said. "Stand down."

Keith's tongue felt disconnected and loose as he tried to speak. "Sh—I— _Lance._ " 

"I know." Keith noticed Shiro's eyes were red-rimmed and wet. "But you can't do this." 

" _It's their fault,"_ he growled, his blood boiling hot beneath his skin as he glanced down at the Galra. 

"If you do this, you'll become something else. You'll be falling straight into Lotor's plans," Shiro forced out, his face crinkling with anger and worry. "Now _stand down_. Lance needs you." 

 _"Lance is dead!"_ he screamed, leaning in close to the projection. It felt cruelly final saying the words out loud. He saw Allura wince. 

"So? That doesn't mean he won't need you anymore. You know he'd be disappointed in you if you killed this Galra. You'd be letting him down."

It was like a bucket of icy water had been dumped over him, shocking, jolting his hands completely from their place around the Galra's neck. He could see the awful, bloody handprints he'd left behind on their neck. He could feel their chest rising and falling slowly beneath him. Still alive. He looked back to Shiro again, eyes desperate and pleading. _Tell what I should do._

Shiro nodded. "Go."

He went, shakily dragging himself away from the Galra, his knees threatening to buckle with each step. 

Only to be blocked by a blue forcefield—groaned as he smacked his head hard into it. Panicked, as he splayed his hands out before him, pressing himself as close as possible to the barrier, as if he could force his way through. The Blue Lion crouched in the middle of the barrier, it's gigantic form towering over the small body splayed out beneath. Keith's hover bike had been discarded a hundred meters away, a huge dint in its side, like it had been shoved away in fury. 

 _No!_ _Let me in! I need to be there!_

He tried smacking his clenched fists against the barrier, leaving bloody prints behind, as he called out to the lion inside, begging her to let him in. Slumped to his knees when she refused to respond—because of course she wouldn't, the lions only responded to their Paladin. And Blue's Paladin was inside that barrier. She'd never lower the barrier for Keith, no matter how much he screamed. No matter how much begged and sobbed, leaving a trail of tears and snot down his face. It was so unfair. 

They'd just gotten Lance back. 

Why was he taken from them again? 

He imagined Hunk and Pidge right now, the crushing and catatonic sorrow they'd be feeling. Guilt pooled inside him like acid, eating away at his insides. He'd _promised_ Lance that he would survive this, even if it cost Keith his own life. The team needed him. Keith's head hit the desert ground with a thud, which might have been painful, but he was beyond feeling now. 

"Please," he tried one more time. "Someone needs to be there with him." 

Nothing. 

Blue was, if anything, faithful to her Paladin. Perhaps even a little selfish, as she kept him all to herself. 

An arm came around his shaking shoulders, pulling him in close, as someone crouched down with him. "Give Blue a moment," a strong voice whispered into his ear. Allura. His body collapsed sideways into hers and another sob escaped him, it sounded cracked and thin inside his ears. Ever the strongest person around, likely the most adept at handling grief, she embraced him, resting her chin on top of his head. "This moment might just be the last she ever has with him." 

* * *

It was well-known fact that the Blue Lion loved her Paladin. She'd loved her previous Paladin, too.

 _Blaytz_. She'd been unable to save him. Unable to reach him before it was too late.

Blue had spent ten thousand years mourning the loss of her first Paladin. 

Had spent ten thousand years thinking she'd never find another Paladin. So when the human boy had come casually knocking on her barrier one day, she'd been surprised when it fell, almost against her will. But she immediately felt the same thing inside the boy she'd first felt with Blaytz. A willingness to learn, a personality made up of good natured winks and friendly jokes, and most importantly: an accepting heart.

 _Lance,_ she'd learned was his name. 

Blue had responded to him instantly, inviting him inside with open jaws. And he'd come, with a devilish grin, trusting her from the get-go. Even as she flew out of that awful cave for the first time in ten thousand years, eager to stretch her stiff body. Even as she tossed them all around her cockpit in her utter glee at being united with another Paladin. Even as she'd rocketed Lance away from his home—

He'd trusted her. He didn't pilot her; he _flew_ with her. Allowed her to guide him to her Princess.

It was the same feeling she'd had when she flew with Blaytz the first time. It wasn't a pilot controlling his ship, it was a Paladin flying with his lion. A partnership. It was something to be enjoyed as much as it was to be taken seriously.  

It was a little-known fact that the Blue Lion was actually the most stubborn of them all. That title belonged to Red. And she was fine with it remaining that way. However, as she crouched before her fallen Paladin, she decided that Red could give up the title for the day.

It was a little-known fact that the Blue Lion had an ability no one had ever unlocked. It might have been if Blaytz had been close enough at the time of his murder, but circumstances had kept them apart.

Lance's journey didn't end here, she was certain. Felt the way Red had gradually been calling out to him. His journey with her might have been coming to a close, but it wasn't over for him. Of that, Blue was endlessly stubborn about.

It was a little-known fact—

That the Blue Lion could heal her Paladins.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Follow me on:  
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean (i think i've been typing this wrong until now lol) 
> 
> As usual, enjoy. 
> 
> All your comments make me smile (either with thankfulness or evil). 
> 
> xoxoxox
> 
> and yeah, plot twist, it's not his mum. YOU THOUGHT. and so did he.


	22. Day Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk has a weird way of dealing with grief. Pidge's is slightly healthier. Lance meets someone. 
> 
> WARNING: There's a pretty graphic description of death here. So if you're not comfortable with it skip from: 'Keith's voice shook violently as he forced out the agonising words' to 'And so did Lance.' I don't want to hurt anyone who might find this sensitive.

Two days passed where Blue didn't lower her barrier. 

They were the worst two days in Hunk's living memory.

After dropping Shiro off at the castle for a few hours in a Pod—Green also being graciously delivered to safety—Hunk had raced back down to Earth before the Coran could ask him to stay. Before Pidge could beg him to ' _wait for me!'_ His mind was ringing, his heart a dead weight in his chest and his hands shook fiercely on the controls.

When Allura had alerted them on their way to the castle of what happened to Lance, her face gaunt and riddled with deep, cutting shadows, it had taken Shiro's hand on Hunk's shoulder to stop him from instantly turning around. Behind them, Pidge had been silent and shaking in the corner of the cockpit, her pupils like pin-pricks and her teeth chattering against each other.

_"I want to go back as much as you," Shiro said, calmly, though his voice wobbled at the end. "Trust me. I'd rather dive back down instead of being stuck in a Pod. But it's not me I'm worried about." Subtly, he tilted his head towards Pidge, who was still staring into nothing. He understood. She needed a moment before she could face the awful reality waiting for them back on Earth._

So, he'd waited, and took off the moment Pidge shakily helped Shiro out of Yellow, who'd caught Hunk's eyes with a nod—permission to leave. He'd flown hastily back to the shitty shack, his eyes still dry but his entire body prickling with numbness. His father's face had sliced across his mind when the shitty shack came into view, sending Hunk's stomach rolling inside him. _Not this again._

_I wasn't there._

_For my father. And now for Lance._

_I WASN'T THERE._

Now, two days had passed and he still wasn't allowed to be there for Lance. They'd solemnly cleaned the mess inside Keith's shack and had been using it as a place to rest. Shrio, Pidge and Coran came down in a Pod a day after Hunk arrived back. No one knew where Kolivan was, he'd disappeared after leaving Hunk and Pidge to their own mission days ago. It was awful of him, but Hunk couldn't bring himself to care where the Galra was. Coran had flown the female Galra back to the castle in restraints and placed her in a Pod, keeping her frozen until they returned. She'd sent a long look at Keith as she was escorted into the escape Pod, bloody and bandaged, but he'd only glared back, Shiro keeping an arm on his shoulder to stop him from pouncing on her. 

Hunk felt bad that Coran was left all alone to man the castle, but it was necessary. All that really mattered to him now was what lay on the other side of that barrier. 

Blue didn't move once, her eyes dull and unseeing, and neither did Lance. At this distance, Hunk couldn't see if his chest was still, or if his skin was beginning to sink into the dips of his bones, or if his lips were blue. He—he couldn't see anything. Just like with his father. Here he was, being denied, like he was all that time ago.

Leaning forwards, he pressed his forehead against the barrier from his place on the ground. It wasn't hot like he expected, but cool, like a cold cloth being rubbed over his face, soothing. It made sense, Blue being the Guardian Spirit of Water. However, he flinched back when he thought how Lance's skin might be cool like this to touch, the familiar feeling of wanting to vomit rose up within him.

 _Blue,_ he tried, like _everyone_ had tried,  _please let me in. I need to be with him._ And like everyone, he was depressingly unsuccessful, met with only silence. The ruthless desert sun bit into the skin at the back of his neck. He was sweating, probably smelt terrible, too. But what did it matter? He was alive, right? All this discomfort was proof that he was living, breathing and feeling—unlike Lance. From the state Keith was in, Hunk had already resigned himself to the worst-case scenario.

Someone sat down beside him, slowly, as if their entire body was stiff and in pain. Hunk knew who it was immediately. It was like a predator had taken a seat next to him, thrumming with barely restrained energy, dark, and engulfing Hunk. Keith showed anger like no one else he'd ever met. It was like a creature with claws that walked alongside him and lashed out whenever something went askew.

He was keeping it to himself somehow, though. Hunk could see the visible restraint it took the Red Paladin not to break everything that came into contact with his hands, could see him swallow it down. He wondered if that had something to do with the time he'd spent with Lance recently.

"Hey, Hunk," Keith said, his voice still a thin croak. One of his legs were tucked underneath the other as it braced itself on the ground. He leant forwards into the upraised thigh, his fingers picking at the dirt on the ground. Hunk couldn't see his eyes behind his curtain of inky-black hair. Wasn't sure he wanted to.

Hunk tucked his legs into himself, staring helplessly at the barrier. "Hey, Keith." It sounded awkward in his own ears. Hunk and Keith didn't talk much at the best of times, so this was something of a struggle for them both. "What's up?" He tried keeping it casual, wary of Keith's tendency to blow up unpredictably.   

Keith rested his forehead on his knee. "You know that feeling you get inside when your aircraft loses power and plummets to the ground. That weightlessness."

"And the nausea," Hunk added.

" _And_ the nausea. I've felt like I've been falling out of the sky for two days. Can feel myself preparing for the end, but it never comes. It's just this endless fall." 

Did Keith secretly read poetry books without their knowledge? Since when was he eloquent? If he'd known Keith had a secret way with words he'd never made that apology up for Lance.  

"That's grief for you," Hunk said miserably.

_Don'tthinkaboutdaddon'tthinkaboutdaddon'tthinkaboutdad._

Then:  _Don'tthinkaboutLancedon'tthinkaboutLancedon'thinkaboutLance._

He failed at both. 

Keith's fingers dug into the ground, like he wanted to claw his way inside it. "I hate it. I wish it would either just stop, or the end would come. I can't live in a constant free fall."

Hunk didn't want to hear Keith talk about his own misery. Couldn't stand the sound of Keith feeling sorry for himself when Lance was a dead body on the other side of the barrier. No one seemed to be feeling sorry _for Lance._ Who was really the only victim here. 

So, he snapped at Keith, for the first time ever. "Look, I understand what you're going through. But I kinda don't really care about how _you_ feel at the moment." 

Keith fell silent, his shoulders lowering.

The silence stretched out for thirty long minutes, both of them sweating like pigs under the sun, but neither of them caring.

Hunk broke it after another five minutes of counting to himself. "Are the others all inside?"

Nodding against his knee, Keith answered, "I think Pidge and Shiro are having a nap. Allura just finished trying to connect with Blue...again." Hunk processed all this, staring accusingly at the Blue Lion. 

"Allura flew Blue, didn't she? Why isn't she able to connect with her now?" 

Keith shrugged. "Maybe Blue's handling grief in her own way." 

"You think the lions can feel things like that?" Hunk asked, unconvinced. They might have been sentient, but they were still machines. 

"You see what she's doing right now, don't you? She wouldn't do that if she weren't feeling something, just like us." 

"I guess." Hunk wasn't in the mood for an argument with Keith about the _sentientness_ of robotic lions. Honestly, he wasn't in the mood for Keith in general.

Bitterness, that's what he felt towards the Red Paladin.

_He was the one with Lance when he died. He was the one who held him. He was the one who was supposed to protect him _—w_ ho failed._

It should have been Hunk. Dead or alive, it should have been Hunk there for Lance. But he'd left him behind because he was the only one who could fly Shiro in Yellow. His heart had been bleeding ever since he left Lance here, and when Allura had contacted them he knew why. Dread. Something foreboding had been slithering through him. A warning. 

He still hadn't cried.  

Pidge had cried, many times. He'd caught Shiro sniff up some stray tears, too. Saw Allura's eyes sometimes come back red after reaching out for Blue. Keith didn't cry though, so there was that, at least.

"Keith," Hunk began, dreading what he was about to ask, both in regard to the pain he was about to inflict on himself and on Keith. It would hurt them both, but it needed to be asked. "Did he die in pain?"

Judging by the painful wheeze that left Keith, from somewhere deep inside, Hunk guessed that Lance had indeed died in pain. He felt bad for forcing Keith to recall his own torture, but Hunk needed it. He'd asked the same thing from his mother when he'd returned home too late to say goodbye to his father.

_"Describe it for me," he asked her dully, leaning into her shoulder. It was soft, like the rest of her—like him. Comforting._

_She looked down at him with horrified eyes. "Hunk..."_

_"Please," he begged, swallowing down fresh tears. "I need to picture it, so I can pretend I was there, like I should have been."_

_Her wide, golden eyes watched him levelly for a moment, tears collecting in the corners. "It will hurt you. More than you know."_

_"I don't care. I need to see it with my own eyes." He closed his eyes._

_So, she described it to him. From the way his father's breath had caught in his throat, to the way his body jerked slightly as it began to shut itself down, the tensing of his muscles, the tiny sounds that left his gaping mouth. He'd been asleep, so he felt nothing. It was a peaceful death, and somehow Hunk had gradually found solace, pretending he was there until the end, imagining himself saying those all-important words of goodbye._

_'I love you. You brought me so much happiness. I'll miss you. Goodbye, father.'_

_He'd healed, to a certain extent._

Lance's death was not like his father's. Not in the slightest. 

Keith's voice shook violently as he forced out the agonising words, not bothering to censor himself. Hunk closed his eyes. "He started convulsing first, almost straight away after my hand—" Keith immediately broke off with a gasp and Hunk understood. The capsule no one knew about. "After my hand burst the capsule. His entire body was just shaking uncontrollably, his breaths being forced out in these short pants as everything began to shut down. He started coughing up blood. It wasn't like in the movies. It was thick and kind of came out in clumps, like it had begun clotting inside him. It dribbled all over his face. Then his eyes began to bloom with red _—_ bloodshot. And all the veins in his neck, hands and face began to bulge against his skin. He looked like he was about to explode. Somehow, he managed to shoot the Galra in the middle of all that. It was amazing. Badass like he would have wanted it to be. Even whilst dying his aim was perfect. I turned his face to me then and could see his skin turning blue and purple as the pressure built up. I could feel his lungs beneath me gradually deflate. Felt his last breath tickle weakly against my cheek. Saw the light disappear from his eyes. The convulsing stopped about there. And so did Lance."

By the end of it, Keith started sobbing, choking out the last few words like they were poison. Leaning heavily into his knee, Keith roared his agony in a muffled scream and Hunk felt his heart prick with guilt. It was cruel of him to ask that of Keith. To force all that awfulness back into his head when he was likely trying so hard to forget it. And honestly, Hunk wasn't sure if he could possibly move on now, being able to picture it. He couldn't possibly imagine the words he might've said, had he been there.

Lance died in the most  _terrible_ way. So painfully, so quickly. There was no room for words. No room for goodbye. 

Keith was still howling like a broken animal against his knee, the sound of it filtered through Hunk and began to pull out his own cries to join in. _Finally_ , he was crying. He pictured it all. The convulsions, the blood, the _eyes._ Between his great heaving sobs, Hunk attempted to come up with the words he would have said to Lance in those final moments. But he came up empty. He could only picture Lance. Lance suffering. Lance disappearing. Lance putting his last efforts into saving  _Keith._

_Keith._

Who had been the source of so much bitterness and resentment in Lance's life.

Keith, who'd always existed as a reminder to Lance of what he was not.

Keith, who ignored Lance's existence for years.

Keith, who fumbled so helplessly with emotions, who accidentally hurt the people around him.

Hunk thought he might now understand what kind of Paladin the Blue Lion required.

Thought he grasped why Blue was shutting them all out.

* * *

Pidge woke up and realised she'd drooled all over Shiro's shoulder, who was still fast asleep. He looked exhausted, the dark patches under his eyes shocking against his pale complexion. His eyes were narrow crescents and his lashes long and dark against his cheeks. Gingerly, she wiped off her spit from his shoulder, which was now, thankfully, healed. It was when she went to move away from Shiro's side Pidge realised Allura's head was in her lap, also asleep, her silvery hair a mess around her dark face. 

Pidge was stuck here then. It was kind of uncomfortable, sticky, being pressed up against two other people at once when none of them had showered in a couple days. Pidge supposed it was just her misery speaking, but she couldn't care less at the moment. She supposed grief made messes of them all.

She just didn't imagine it to be this _sticky,_ as the temperature rose with the afternoon sun in the shitty shack so did the humidity. They'd all changed out of their flight-suits since arriving back here, Pidge bringing an extra change of clothes for Hunk when she and Shiro back came down, but even with the light clothing, they were all sweating. 

Pidge's hand fell to rest on Allura's head, curiously running her fingers through her pale hair. It was a little oily with sweat, but smooth, like Pidge was never able to get her hair. 

Pidge was able to manage a full two minutes fascinated by Allura's hair before she thought about Lance again.

This grief felt different to the kind she felt when Matt and her father went missing. She'd never truly grieved for her family, too convinced that they were alive to properly feel its clutches. All she'd ever felt was a desperate certainty that they were still out there. Without a body, there was no proof, according to her. Until the Garrison showed up to her doorstep with her brother and father's bodies, she couldn't believe them.   

Now she had a body—Lance's body. She'd barely been able to make it out beneath the massive form of the Blue Lion, but she'd seen him lying there, motionless. 

A fun fact about Lance: he was  _never_ motionless. There was always some part of him moving, whether that was his hands, his legs, his eyes, or even those weird twitches he got in his shoulders when they were stuck in exams. Even when _sleeping,_  Lance moved, flopping around the bed or even just a simple twitch in his fingers. Pidge had figured that out rather unceremoniously one night when she'd stayed at his house in Cuba with Hunk for a week. They'd all fallen asleep that night on Lance's queen bed ( _'because I **am** a queen,' he'd stated_) and Pidge had suffered an elbow in the face when Lance rolled over into her space. She'd shoved him on the floor for that. 

Now, Lance was motionless. Pidge found it difficult to believe that it could possibly be him lying so still inside the barrier. It was so unlike him. 

Pidge bit down another wave of devastation, feeling the tears burn at the back of her eyes, but forcing them away. She was over crying. 

She was over everything. 

She just wanted to go home. 

She wanted her brother and father back.

She wanted to take Lance to Cuba. 

She wanted to have another sleepover with him and Hunk. 

She wanted Shiro to have his arm back, and his PTSD gone. 

She wanted Hunk to have his father laid to rest finally. 

She wanted Keith to find his family. 

She wanted Allura to have a home. 

She wanted Coran to have his family back. 

Pidge wanted a lot of things. All of which were impossible. Be that as it may, she was only a fifteen (or was she sixteen, now?) year-old girl who didn't know when to stop  _wanting_ everything.  

On her lap, Allura shifted, her sweaty head moving to the side where she pillowed her cheek on Pidge's thighs. Against her arm, Shiro leant harder against her as he tipped over sideways, his head now resting on top of hers. Under normal circumstances she would have shoved them both away, but now she soaked up all their stickiness and weight them against her like her life depended on it. It didn't feel nearly as satisfying as a hug from Lance would have—Hunk's hugs were great, too, but she often felt smothered by his sheer height and size. Lance's, though, were just right; he didn't grip too hard or too soft, and he did that thing where his hands moved up and down her back and he'd rest his chin on her head.

Thinking back to the Garrison, it was possible Pidge had once had a crush on Lance. It had made her snarky and rude the way all awkward things did to teenagers her age.

He'd thought she was a boy, so he'd acted like she was a boy. Was unashamed to change right in front of her, thought he always turned his back for some reason, like he had something to hide. He'd shove up against her, throw an arm around her shoulders and push his face right next to hers. She'd been glad she wore glasses all the time as they covered a fraction of her blushes.

She thought back on it now, and decided she absolutely used to have a crush on him. But her brain had been so in denial at the time she didn't pick up on it that way. Maybe she still had a crush on him. Who knew? She still found herself blushing at him sometimes.

The thought made her smile unexpectedly, eased her breaking heart. This was what Lance deserved, he deserved to be remembered for all the good he brought, not for all the pain he was bringing now. At least she'd gotten that last embrace in before she'd rushed off into Yellow. Pidge might have been absolutely destroyed by everything, might have felt like she'd happily lie down and die with Lance, but that would be unfair to him. He deserved to have her memories of him exist because, in a way, it meant he was still alive. Still with her. The more memories they had of him, the closer he felt.

Death wasn't the end.

What a strange time to have an epiphany, soaking in your own sweat—and two others—in a shitty shack.

A tickle inside her mind, feather light. It stroked against Pidge they way her curiosity for technology always did. Made her jump.

It drove her to her feet, dislodging both the heads from her, though somehow neither of the two woke up. A testament to how in need of a break they all were. Feeling a pull, like there was a rope attached to her waist, yanking her forwards, she walked out the door and into the dry heat of the desert. She saw the giant blue barrier rise up in front of her, shielded her face with her hand against the sun as she squinted up at it. Blue was still crouched inside, dead-eyed and motionless. Vaguely, she noticed Keith and Hunk were nowhere in sight, most likely having gone off for a walk to clear their heads. Yellow sat nearby the barrier, too. The two lions reminded Pidge of the way Hunk and Lance always sat around together.

She approached the barrier slowly, hearing the way the energy sung through it, felt it sing to her, weaving itself into her blood.

When she was only a metre away she paused, her neck craning up.

Then—

Like a curtain falling to the ground, the barrier dropped with a rush of cold air. She yelped, jumping back. It was there, and then gone. Nothing between her and Blue—and _Lance._  

He was right _there_.

She felt something brush along her mind again, and could picture an invisible voice inside her head. _Thank you. For remembering him for the joy he brought, not as an origin of pain. Now, come to him._

Behind her, she heard a gasp, and looked back to see Allura standing there, hair dishevelled and her hands over her mouth, eyes blown wide.

Then they were both running as fast as their feet could carry them towards Lance's fallen form. Pidge noticed how cold it was inside where the barrier had been.

They were dropping by his side. Touching his face, which was cold and bloody. Pulling at his wrist.

Desperate,

Desperate,

Shaking,

Jittering.

And there it was.

A pulse.

 _Right there._  

A life. 

* * *

From somewhere deep within him, Lance heard a voice telling him it was time to piss off. He was oddly offended by this, not knowing where he was in the first place.  

_It's due time you stopped giving your friends grief, you lazy Paladin._

_Who are you?_ Lance asked the voice, it wasn't Blue, he knew. This voice was masculine. And Blue was _definitely_ a girl. 

_The name's Blaytz._

_That's a terrible name._

_It seemed to really rope in the boys and girls back in my day._   

_Can't imagine it._

_Whatever. Anyway, not to be pushy or anything but you really should get outta here. Wouldn't want to keep all the guys and ladies waiting, now wouldn't we? Not to mention you also have a universe to continue saving. I bet you can't do it as well as me._

_You're so egotistic, oh my god. Fine, fine, I'll go, just because you're annoying._

_How else do you think Blue chooses her Paladins?_

A pause. _You were her previous Paladin?_

_The very first._

_Huh._

_'Huh?' That's all you have to say? You meet your predecessor and you give him a great big 'HUH?' Blue, you should reconsider this guy. He's not very nice._

_I think I get it now._

_Get what?_

_Why Blue chose me._

_Because you're bold, intelligent, adaptable, accepting, humorous, good looking, a flirt, a great shot?_

_No, because we both don't know when to shut up._

Lance tapped out before Blaytz could shriek back a retort. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin (sometimes I'll tweet as I write which can be pretty entertaining at times)  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean 
> 
> A lot of what Hunk was saying comes from an experience of mine this year when someone passed away. So it kinda got personal for me. WHOOPS. NICE ONE. But like yeah, fun fact. 
> 
> As usual, enjoy. I hope the end lifted your spirits a bit. You all deserve a pick me up.


	23. Day Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Shiro chat, finally. Pidge is clumsy. Keith is unpredictable at times, even for poor Shiro. Lance has a slight dilemma. Hunk, is another one to come.

Lance woke up to darkness. 

Which was kind of confusing and led him to believe that he wasn't even awake. However, after two minutes of staring up into the darkness he could gradually make out the sound of someone else's breaths inside the room. He turned his head to the side and, as his eyes began to accustom to the darkness, could make out the vague form of someone sitting in a seat by his bed. Their head lolled forwards with the suggestion of sleep. Lance's eyes caught on the little white tuff of hair and instantly knew who it was.

He'd been tucked in tightly to his own bed, his sheets and blankets stiff as they were wrapped in under the mattress. It made it difficult to move. However, with the consequent nausea that rose inside him from his slight movement previously, Lance was content to remain still.

His body was sore and stiff, right down to his toes. Odd. 

But as his memory from his final moments surfaced, Lance realised that was most likely because of the way his body had convulsed brutally to death. He'd died. Dead. Stopped.

But he was here. Inside his own room aboard the castle.

 _Blue._ She'd saved him. 

He always knew his lion was the best. Keith could go shove his super fast reflexes and instincts up his ass.

Instead of moving, Lance tried to speak. " _Shiro,_ " he forced out, coughing when the simple word tore up his throat. His mouth tasted slightly metallic afterwards and a second later Shiro started out of his seat and was instantly on his knees before Lance. His face was pale and drawn, but his eyes twinkled with light as he stared at Lance. Happy. He was happy to see Lance. 

After everything, after Lance _stabbed_ him, betrayed him, Shiro was glad to see Lance. If he'd had it in him, he might've had a nice big cry right on the spot because Shiro was just _too good_ for the universe. 

"Lance," Shiro gasped, his hands coming up to gently push Lance's hair from his forehead. The sensation was so tender Lance had to shut his eyes for a moment, absorbing the kindness. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore, kind of tired, even though I just woke up, and thirsty."

"I'll comm Pidge to get you a glass of water. She'll want to see you," Shiro said, his hand rising to his ear as he spoke to Pidge on the other side of his comm. The hand was back on his face a moment later. Lance had missed this. He'd missed Shiro so much and he hadn't even realised _how_ much until he was here again, his hands a comforting weight on his skin. 

"How long has it been?" Lance asked.

"It's been five days since you..."

"Died," Lance finished for him, seeing the way Shiro's mouth became stuck at the word.

"Yes. And it's been three days since Blue lowered her barrier for us. You woke up briefly then, but only for a minute or so, said something about Blaytz being an ass." Shiro rose a brow, a fraction of a smile on his lips. Good, Lance liked it better that way. The past month of catatonic seriousness had been eaten him up inside and he was desperate for some good hearty smiles.

Lance offered his own signature grin to Shiro. "Oh, yeah," he laughed, shifting onto his side, which caused his stomach to roll. But it didn't hiss or slither this time, remained pleasantly dormant. "He _is_ an ass. Guess that's why Blue chose both of us as Paladins."

This close, Lance could see the way Shiro's dark, narrow eyes widen ever so slightly, the slight dip in his bottom lip as he looked at Lance in surprise. "You talked to you predecessor? How is that possible?"

He shrugged under the blankets. "I wouldn't take my word for it, but have you ever watched Avatar The Last Air Bender?"

"Is that the movie with the blue people?"

Lance gaped in mock horror. Shiro's hands were still running systematically through his hair. "That's offensive. A terrible mistake. Unforgivable. So, I'll take it as a depressing no."

Shiro nodded, looking sheepish. "That's probably for the best. I'm no good at references."    

"I probably couldn't explain it even if I tried. I'd ask Allura. She knows more about the lions than any of us, and the old Paladins," Lance said, feeling a wave of tiredness press down on him. Shiro noticed this—something must have shown on Lance's face. 

"I should probably let you rest, I just—I want you to know, I forgive you for stabbing me. Keith explained everything to me and I'm not mad at you. And I'm  _fine._ And so are you." Leaning even further forwards, dark eyes luminous, Shiro pressed a kiss to his forehead. It was familiar, like getting a kiss from his older brother when he was feeling gracious for once. Shiro leant his forehead into Lance's. "You did so well. I'm proud of you." 

_Oh._

_Oh, that felt good._

You know that amazing feeling when you're hugging someone while wearing a jacket, and they slip their arms in underneath to hold you closer? How warm and tender and loving the gesture felt? Yeah, it felt like that. 

Shiro didn't linger for too long. He spent time going over some things with Lance, recounting their fears, anxieties and stresses over the past thirty days. It felt good, like a giant weight lifted off his shoulders, to confide Shiro again, to have him there to just tell Lance he did well.  _You survived. You made good decisions, despite everything. You handled Keith well while you were captive. You supported each other like close comrades._ Lance drank it all in, selfishly, revelling in the way Shiro was building him up, aware of the fact Lance didn't want to focus on the heavy stuff just yet. At one point Pidge quietly entered, her bottom lip wobbling at the sight of Lance awake and talking and nearly dropping the glass of water on her way to throw her arms around him. He'd managed to prop himself up by then, but was practically knocked over again when she barrelled into him. 

Shiro left right about that moment, with a soft, "We're grateful to have you back, Sharpshooter" and a hand ruffling his hair. 

That left Lance alone with Pidge, who seemed unlikely to let go of Lance anytime soon, so he'd resigned himself to simply using his hands to run up and down her back, resting his chin on her head and closing his eyes. He could have easily fallen asleep there, Pidge's arms tight around him, holding him together for all she was worth.

It was as he ran his hands all over her back, feeling the fragile bumps of her spine and the backs of her ribcage, he noticed that his hands were trembling. With a furrowed brow he concentrated on bringing them under control again, like he did right before he made a shot, however, that only seemed to cause them to shake more. He shrugged, he'd just technically died—an awful thought—so his body was likely still adjusting itself to all the changes it had been forced under. 

Oh, yeah. 

 _Blue,_ he reached out to her, feeling their connection catch.  _Thank you, sweetie. You're the best and most talented of us all._

He felt a rumble in response. Then something else caught against his mind, _someone else,_ causing him to sag even heavier into Pidge with relief.  _I'm glad you're still with us, Lance.  
_

_Love you, Allura. Still think we should get married?_

A tickle of amusement floated through the link.  _I never said that. That was all you._

_Worth a shot._

They clicked out with that final bit of amusement. 

Pidge and Lance remained like that for fifteen minutes, his hands repeatedly moving over her back, despite their shakiness. Pidge didn't say a word the entire time, just kept her head borrowed into his chest like she was trying to absorb him into herself. Like she was afraid he'd disappear. When a stray snore broke through, tickling through the thin material of his pyjamas (again, who changed him?) he realised she'd fallen soundly asleep. Her glasses were digging into his ribs, so, laying down gingerly onto his back, taking her with him, he removed them and set them aside. She didn't make a noise, even as he resettled her on his chest and pulled the blanket over them both.

Seeing the headphones around her neck, he retrieved the phone he still hadn't given back to her (he had a feeling she would forgive him) and plugged them in. Scrolling through the list of music, he found a particular playlist and set it to shuffle, turning the volume up to full so it would could be heard through the headphones. They'd always done it this way for some reason, instead of just playing the music out loud like normal people. Hunk called them weirdos for it.

_Hunk._

That was going to be a challenge Lance was going to have to face soon. Now, for a completely new set of awful reasons. But it was a challenge for later. For the moment, all he wanted to do was rest here with Pidge—beautiful, amazing, intelligent _Pidge—_ and let the rest of the universe fall away.

* * *

Shiro found Keith standing with his arms crossed on the observation room. He was decked out completely in black, his knife missing and his jacket nowhere to be seen. 

He hesitated as he approached, Keith still hadn't noticed his arrival, and his tension was clear in the stiff set of his shoulders. Shiro wondered briefly why he was suddenly hesitant. He'd comforted Keith countless times before, was as natural to him as breathing. Yet somehow, this seemed different. Keith wasn't unsure about his identity this time, or stressed about their mission, or devastated over another loss, or recovering from a serious injury, though the shallow wounds and burn on his face did look awful. Shiro was confused why Keith hadn't wanted a Pod to heal those, but he hadn't pushed.

This new and terrible tension in Keith all had to do with Lance, after all those dreadful things they had to witness and go through together. It wasn't Shiro's place to intervene in this new territory. This was extremely personal and a highly fragile topic for Shiro to even approach, and he'd never be able to comprehend it the way Keith needed him to. He'd beaten Lance half unconscious to save him only to accidentally kill him because of a dirty Galra ploy they hadn't known about. No amount of shoulder touches or hugs from Shiro could help Keith through this.

But, whether Shiro was enough, it didn't matter. Keith needed _someone._  Even if it was just to give him a slight shove in the right direction. To the one who could help Keith through this. 

He coughed to get the Red Paladin's attention, who turned slowly, his hair falling over his face in inky waves. The pale skin on his face was devastatingly marred by all the terrible wounds on his face. Eight claw marks running from under his eyes and over his cheeks and a messy burn line from his hairline down to his chin. It made Shiro's heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

"Hey," he tried greeting, softly.

Keith's dark eyes roved over Shiro's form, head to toe, like he was still in disbelief that he was actually there. He did it every time Shiro entered the room these days. "Hey," he gave back, turning to face the endless stars before them again.

Shiro came up the rest of the way to stand beside Keith, reaching a hand out in that familiar way and pressing it to his thin shoulder.

It was _far_ thinner than usual.

Shiro wasn't a fool; he'd seen the way Keith had been skipping out on meals, or simply throwing it away once the rest of them were finished. He  _knew_ Keith. Knew when there was something terrible going on within him.  

"Keith," he tried, peering sideways at the boy, desperate for him to react. "Be honest with me here. Are you okay? Don't bullshit anything." Keith was the only person he allowed himself to swear around, mainly because he didn't expect Shiro to hold up a front like everyone else did.  

Keith's stormy eyes flickered over to meet Shiro's. He could see the tiny creases in the corners of his eyes, a testament to how over worked, physically and emotionally, he'd been over the last thirty days. A range of emotions seemed to fly in and out of them as Keith supposedly decided what he was going to give Shiro. His hand tightened on his shoulder. 

Keith's eyes dropped to the floor, closing. "I'm not okay. Not at all. You were gone, and I took it out on Lance. Used him like a punching bag. Then everything started happening too quickly for me to catch up, I couldn't _think_. Lotor showed up, dangled Thace and my mother in front of me and—and I _bought_ it. Lance only followed me onto that ship because he could see I was running on instinct, not logic. He was there for me and it nearly cost him his sanity, and his life. It  _did_ cost him his life. I cost him. It was my hand that burst the capsule," he grit out, and Shiro could feel the anger in the tightening of his shoulder under his hand.

"You didn't know," Shiro argued.

"Doesn't matter, I'm still the reason he had to go through all that. I'm the whole reason. I'm always the reason they suffer." 

" _Keith,_ " Shiro said strongly, causing Keith's eyes to glance back up to him fiercely. They were burning with a colourful array of emotions. A kaleidoscope of feeling. "Stop trying to take the blame upon yourself. If I hadn't of disappeared—"

"That wasn't your fault!"

Shiro held up a hand. "Exactly. None of this is a single person's fault. It was a collection of terrible circumstances that collided in the most horrible way possible. But, Keith, you're missing one vital point. Lance is _alive._ Perfectly healthy. I just came from his room. He's awake, and joking, and laughing, breathing,  _living._ And you're in here acting like he's still dead. I'll give it to you straight: It's disrespectful to Lance. You owe it to him to appreciate him as the living, breathing person he is. You can feel the guilt and pain, I won't tell you to stop. But you have to go see him. Treat him like the miracle he is. Remaining here, drowning in guilt, isn't helping anyone, least of all Lance."

Keith's mouth was a stubborn, crooked line across his face, but he looked like he was taking in Shiro's words, eyebrows scrunched inwards. His eyes dropped to the floor in front of Shiro, looking like he wanted to burn two holes inside it.

"There's also something else," he added, and Shiro was surprised to see a faint tinge of red bloom on his cheeks. _Oh, no. Please don't_ —  

Shiro's life was _never_ that easy.

_Of course not._

Swiftly, always the fastest of them all, Keith swung his face up to Shiro's, bringing their mouths together before Shiro could protest.

_Don't do this again, Keith. Think! Think!_

But Keith was still Keith—still a little reckless and a fraction clueless about the way these things worked. There was only so much Shiro could teach him back in the Garrison. Keith was still under the impression that life was like a classic Western action film, it would seem. Shiro blamed Keith's father for never owning any other movies.

Shiro tried to pull back, but Keith's hand locked around his neck as he pressed their mouths firmly together. Just like he had all that time ago in his shack. He kissed Shiro one, two, three, five, eight times, Shiro's hands raised awkwardly in the air as the Red Paladin seemed to _search_ for something. Their noses brushed uncomfortably together and Shiro disliked the way the wetness began to build up against his still lips. 

A moment later, it was over, Keith pulling back and looking up at Shiro with an unreadable expression, his eyes dark with something Shiro had never seen before. His hands were still around his neck, his small body still pressed up against his, but his face looked like he was slowly dawning on a realisation.

" _Keith._ I thought we went through this. I'm not—we can't."

"It doesn't matter," Keith butt in, his warm hands slipping away, over Shiro's shoulders and down his chest. "It doesn't feel the same anymore."

Shiro drew back, not following what he meant. "What do you mean?"

Keith didn't answer him, only dropped his hands and sliced his eyes towards the door, like there was something calling him from that direction. Shiro's mind tickled with the beginning of comprehension. _It doesn't feel the same anymore._

It was a test. Not for Shiro, but for himself.

"You're right, I should go see Lance," Keith said, though he raised a hand to touch Shiro's elbow, his real one, lightly, eyes casting one more look in his direction. "I'm glad you're back, Shiro."

Keith left through that door as fast as he could without actually running, a new drive behind his steps.

* * *

When Pidge swept out the door of Lance's room she nearly ran headlong into Keith, who had been in the middle of entering, both flailing backwards with a yelp. At the same time as Lance's heart jumped at the sight of Keith, he laughed at the the team's two hotheads yelping like children.

"Keith," Pidge greeted, stepping back at the same time as Keith, fixing her glasses.

"Pidge." Keith crossed his arms in that glowering way of his, looking awkward.

They were both such _dorks._

"You going in?"

"You going out?"

They nodded, then, almost military-like, moved to allow each other in/out, Pidge giving Lance one last wave before she left. When the doors shut behind Keith, sealing him inside with a final whoosh, Lance swallowed nervously. He was afraid for this, not as afraid as he was for the one with Hunk, but could still feel his heart pick up speed. His hands still hadn't stopped their shaking, either, so he hid them under the blankets. He couldn't have Keith actually  _seeing_ him nervous. That was a huge no no. 

Keith stalked in, looking like he was ready to give Lance a dangerous mission, not have a serious conversation. Although, he hesitated when he neared Lance's bed. It was still dark in his room, the faint blue light casting eerie shadows over the Red Paladin's face, so he couldn't see his expression. Lance knew Keith, though—knew that the stubborn set of his shoulders was him asking for permission.

Lance nodded his assent. Keith sunk his skinny ass onto the mattress by Lance's feet, leaning his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. Lance imagined the wall Keith was most likely glaring at right now was close to weeping with alarm.

Lance—Lance didn't know how to start this conversation, but ever a big mouth, he started it anyway. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the capsule, it was stupid of me. I should have trusted you."

"It wasn't about trust," Keith instantly debated. "It was about you feeling like a burden if everyone knew, even after Lotor was taken down. Allura knew and you wanted to keep it that way."

Again, Keith was slowly getting better at reading people.

"I still should have told you."

"Yeah, you should have. I wanted to kill that Galra after you went. I nearly did. Wanted to die myself, knowing what I did to you." Keith's harsh tone stung. "But, fuck, Lance. I don't care anymore. Honest to God, I'm over looking back on things. Shiro gave me good advice, as usual, and I'm just sick of thinking about what we should have done. Lance you were dead. I saw it in your eyes. I felt it under my hands. Heard it in your last breath. You were gone. But you're somehow sitting here— _alive—_ right in front of me now. A miracle. We can sort out all the messy shit later, over time, when you're feeling better." 

Lance was floored. Absolutely knocked to the ground flat on his ass at this _mature,_ thinking shit through, version of Keith. Suddenly a wordsmith and working through his feelings like an adult. Certainly not for the first time, Lance was grateful for Shiro returning back to them. Though he felt a bitter taste at the back of his throat from the thought of  _Shiro_ always being the one to calm Keith. Lance, annoyed at his annoyance, couldn't answer Keith without giving his sudden bitterness away. 

Not to worry, Keith was on a roll anyway. "Just heed my words: Never fucking die again, otherwise I'll kill you."

Lance barked out a laugh, his head tilting back against the wall he was leaning against. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimmer in Keith's eyes as he finally turned to Lance, looking like he'd just gotten his hands on candy or something of equal pleasure.

"I'll try my best," Lance chuckled. He tightened the blankets around his hands, feeling the constant jerkiness of them vibrate slightly through his arms. Biting back his worry, the spike in his heart, Lance grinned back at Keith. "Just try not to die yourself and things will work out fine."

"Deal," Keith said, holding his hand out.

Lance's blood froze and he felt panic shoot through him. Keith wanted to shake on it. But Lance would have to—

He couldn't. If Keith knew something might be wrong it would make it real. Of course, there was a chance the jittering could disappear with time, but it was looking less and less likely the longer time went on. Though, Lance not telling Keith an important problem earlier literally cost him his life, so there was that.

Keith picked up on the shift in mood instantly, his hand dropping and scooting himself forwards on the bed. His legs brushed up against Lance's beneath the blankets. Lance could see the sudden worry flash through his eyes, the crease between his brows deepening. "Something's wrong," he said, leaning forwards. Glancing stubbornly away, Lance attempted to think of a way he could dodge the question, but when a hand wrapped around his upper arm, squeezing lightly, he realised there was no avoiding this. Keith was learning far too quickly. "Don't you dare shut me out. I can see it in your eyes. _Please,_ tell me. I won't tell anyone else unless you say so." 

_Fine._

Lance didn't know what this meant for him—for his future as a Paladin, as an  _anything._ But Keith was putting himself out there, for Lance, and the least he could do was return the favour. 

Lance uncovered his hands from under the blankets and displayed them to Keith, all their jerkiness bared out for him to see. He kept his eyes strategically angled away from Keith so he wouldn't have to see his reaction. 

"They've been like this ever since I woke up. I can't control them." Closing his eyes, he forced his words to come out as levelly as possible. "Keith, if I can't control my hands, I can't shoot—I can't pilot. I can't be a Paladin if I'm not able to trust my own body to do as I command." 

"How are they like this? Blue healed you, right? Maybe she just missed something?" Keith tried, voice sounding thin and desperate. 

Shaking his head, Lance responded, "She didn't miss anything. I think there was only so much she could fix. Her ability is amazing, but probably has its limits, like everything does." 

There was a feather light touch over both his hands, fluttering over the knuckles until they reached under to hold them, palm to palm. Hot and cold. Lance's hands tingled from the warm touch. Keith squeezed tightly, limiting the shaking, but not stopping it. Swivelling back to slowly face him again, Lance watched as Keith pulled Lance's hands toward himself, where he pressed his knuckled to his cheeks. Lance could feel the terrible gashes he'd made on Keith's face against his skin. It made him angry—at himself. Closing his eyes, Keith continued to hold Lance's hands to his face, right over top of his wounds. His hands were still shaking, but with less force inside Keith's sure grip. Lance's heart stuttered in his chest at the gesture. Just stared wide eyed—tongue tied. 

When he spoke, Keith's voice vibrated right through his hands, into his arms and directly into Lance's body. "Don't worry about any of that right now. Just concentrate on feeling better and we'll tackle whether this is going to impact anything later. J—just leave it to me to worry about." 

Lance was almost convinced—almost resigned himself to just leave Keith to worry about it. it was a naively pleasant idea. But there was a little voice in the back of his head warning him that, without his hands, there was no place for him in Voltron anymore. Allura could fly Blue now, right? If he stepped back, it wouldn't really matter—

"Stop it," Keith hissed into his hands, still against his face. "I know what's going through your head and I can tell you right now, that while I get what you're feeling, you don't need to worry. If you can't shoot, I'll teach you how to swing a sword instead. If you can't pilot, Blue will guide you. Your place is here, with Voltron, as a  _Paladin._ No matter how shitty your hands are." 

_Well._

_God be damned._

_Keith, you beautiful asshole._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Some healing for any broken hearts out there. 
> 
> Also fun fact, this will probably continue as a second part once I finish this one. There is some things I want to delve into that won't fit in here. You might have picked it up with Lance's hand problem. So yay for that! I'll take a break between finishing this and staring the next though. 
> 
> As usual, there are probs heaps of grammar problems bc TIRED  
> You bet I'll pick them up tomorrow when I read through it again like WHY???!!
> 
> Oh yeah! I haven't responded to all your comments lately but know that I read each and everyone one with great thankfulness! xx


	24. Day Thirty: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance recounts a past and present entanglement. Keith gets emotional and, Lance is just "WOAH". Hunk is approached.

Lance had a history of near misses when it came to death. It was like an ex-girlfriend who kept coming back to mess with him, ( _'I miss you, and I love you. Won't you come back to me, Lance?'_  ) only it usually involved him ending up in a hospital bed or a Cryo Pod. He'd felt death sweep its arm over his shoulders—all friendly and deceivingly comforting—many times since joining Voltron, pulling him in close, whispering in his ear. _Come with me. It'll be nice. Just you and me._  When Lance died five days ago, it wasn't any different. Once the pain of his quickly collapsing body faded, it was easy; to just lean into death's embrace like it was Rachel or Alisha, and allow it to sweep him away. He almost felt bad for giving up so easily, allowing Keith's stricken face to fall away without a fight.

When Lance was eight he'd first felt death's gentle hands brush by his shoulders. He'd been kicking up a storm in the ocean when suddenly he felt the sand beneath fall away as he was pulled into a rip. A decent swimmer, but still only a child, Lance had sunk beneath the depths, struggling like hell, but still powerless against the might of the ocean. Even as he fell unconscious, Lance couldn't bring himself to hate the water. He was just a visitor in this world, subject to all its unexpected dangers and unknowns.

His older sister Isabelle was the one who was supposed to be watching him at the time, so he'd been surprised to wake up in a hospital bed and find his brother, Jonathan, there to greet him instead. He'd rushed to embrace Lance, pulling him into his arms. He'd whispered something in Spanish to him, which made Lance feel bad for not picking up the language like his father wanted him to. Lance had enough trouble with English as it was so he was reluctant to tackle Spanish as well.   

Lance had asked where Isabelle was when he was finally released from Jonathan's trembling hands. _"She feels too guilty to see you yet. Give her some time."_

Lance gave her some time, three days of it, during which he was finally released from the stupid hospital with a strict finger being pointed at him to _'never underestimate the_ _ocean.'_ Lance couldn't have agreed more. When he'd finally grown sick of his sister's guilt party he'd confronted her in her room. It was a typical teenage girl's room; funky boyband posters, beauty magazines, makeup, etcetera. Lance loved coming into Isabelle's room, loved it when she offered to paint his nails or cry over famous boys she'd never met.

Eight years-old, skinny and short for his age, Lance had demanded, rather forcefully, _"Stop ignoring me. I thought you were supposed to be glad I'm alive."_

She'd turned around on her bed with wide, tearful eyes, puffy with three days of non-stop crying, he'd realised. Her long brown hair was a mess, dark skin (the same colour as his) looking paler than usual. _"Go away, Lance."_

_"That's mean! Don't you love me anymore? I'll tell mum!"_

_"If you tell mum I'll run away!"_

_"Good!"_

_"Fine."_

_"I hate you."_

This had set her back, her eyes widening and Lance instantly felt bad. He'd gone too far. A moment later she'd screamed for him to get out, a fresh set of tears tracking down her face, and Lance shot out of there as fast as possible, sniffing up his own tears. He'd leant back against her door, hiccups plaguing his upset body when he'd heard her sob. _"I wasn't there. I wasn't there. I wasn't there."_

That day, Lance realised how death can often, at times, turn people fearful of the very one they'd almost lost. They became a constant reminder to them of their mistakes. Because it was _their_ fault _._ Isabelle couldn't face Lance because looking at him brought her pain, it did so for many months until she finally learnt how to overcome it. She'd made it up to him profusely one day by painting his nails and gossiping about the new boy, with the stupid name  _Heath,_ at her school. 

As Lance prepared himself later that day to go find Hunk and settle a few scores with him, he thought that the same thing was happening all over again. He'd expected Hunk to be the first person who came to him. But it had been several hours since he'd woken up and he still hadn't seen a peep from the Yellow Paladin. Keith, who'd remained in his room for hours now—just chatting about nonsense with Lance—mentioned that Hunk had hardly left his own room recently. Keith was confused, recalling to him how distraught Hunk had been when denied access to Lance inside Blue's barrier. Now he had full access to Lance, and he wasn't here. Lance understood, though.

"Do you know where he is now?" he asked Keith, who was rummaging through the drawer under his bed for Lance's clothes. He'd insisted he could do it himself, despite his ruined hands, but Keith was adamant.

His head bowed next to Lance, the slender line of his neck peeking out from under his shirt, Keith answered, "I think he's on the training deck."

"He's doing _that_ again?" Lance asked, worried. 

Lifting his gaze to Lance and pulling out his green jacket, he shook his head. "I don't think he's training. He's just, like, walking circles around the room."

Lance wasn't sure what to make of that. He'd learned so many new and important things about Hunk recently that he was uncertain how to approach him these days.

He had his legs over the side of the bed, feeling strange and light as they rested against the floor. Keith handed Lance his folded jacket and then fished out his shirt and pants, which were also folded.

Lance never folded his clothes. But Hunk did. So he'd been around, then, while Lance was asleep, likely. Fussing as he usually did, but strictly avoiding Lance now that he was awake. Closing the drawer, Keith stood and turned to leave.

"I'll wait outside while you get dressed," he said in a rough voice. 

Lance appreciated the privacy. 

Appreciated it right up until his hands moved to undo the buttons at the front of his pyjamas. With a concentrated frown, he tried pushing the button out through the hole, but his hands were shaking so violently that it wouldn't go through. He bit his tongue with a frustrated groan, hands falling to his sides and closing his eyes against all the bad thoughts racing through his head. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the promise he'd made to Keith.

"Keith," he called through the closed door.

"What's wrong?" came his instant reply, sharp and alert.

"I—I'm gonna need your help. I can't get the buttons undone, my hands are shaking too much." He hated the taste of the words in his mouth, so pathetic and whiny, but he'd long since passed feeling shame for asking Keith for help. They were friends now, right? 

 _Friends._  

Keith didn't respond for a few seconds, then the doors were whooshing open and he was striding through again, crouching in front of Lance with serious eyes.

His hands rose slightly, towards Lance's shirt, but paused halfway as his eyes asked the silent question. Lance nodded, gaze falling to the ground while he rested his shaking hands in his lap. Lance's knees were against Keith's stomach as the other boy leaned forwards to grasp the first button, pausing for a moment, before his thin fingers popped it through. He continued with the rest of the buttons in the same way, grasping them, pausing, then popping them through, as if he needed a second to think about what he was doing. Lance could feel the warmth of his hands in a single, heated line from between his collar bones right down to his navel—felt it burn red, and fiery. When he popped the last button open Lance's heart was speeding inside his chest, and Keith's gaze was intense as his eyes lifted back up.  

And then he opened the shirt, flicking it over his shoulders, where it fell down his arms to pool around Lance's waist.

 _Dumbass, I could have done that._  

Then, Keith's eyes were shooting to his stomach and a self-conscious wave of nausea went through Lance as he thought about the small bit of chub there. Wanted to hide under the blankets when he saw Keith's eyes narrow into pin-points with anger. Flinched when a hand reached out to touch him there.

But Keith, he registered, wasn't looking at the skin Lance hated so much. He was glaring at the ten red marks that cruelly marked him, scabbing over now as they slowly healed. He looked at them like he wanted to burn them off, eyes dark and furious. Lance could feel Keith's fingers trace over each individual mark, impossibly soft against the tender wounds.

"If it weren't for me—" he started.

Lance interrupted immediately. "I thought we weren't doing that? Having regrets. Not right now, at least," he argued, his body taught as a bowstring.

Keith's hand pulled back slightly, only a centimetre away. "I know. But looking at you now, like this. It's kinda hard not to have those regrets a little early," he said solemnly. "Which reminds me, if Blue healed you, why didn't she heal all these wounds as well?" Keith gestured a hand over Lance's entire body.

Lance's brow quirked up. "Maybe she was too busy trying to fix my deadness to worry about the rest?" Keith flinched at his casualness, and Lance had to remind himself that people generally don't speak about their death so offhandedly. He changed the subject quickly. "Do I really look that terrible? I haven't seen myself in a mirror for a while now. What's making your face look all sour-like in particular?"  

Keith, who hadn't taken his eyes off Lance's stomach, glanced up at him through his messy hair. "I'll show you," he said, voice shifiting into...something else. Something low, just for Lance. 

"If you stick a mirror in front of my face I'm gonna hit you with it. I would rather wait until I'm all aesthetic looking first."

"I'm not getting you a mirror."

"Then what—" 

There was a hand at his cheek, soft, but still sending a spike of pain through the tender flesh. Keith rubbed his thumb over it soothingly when he noticed Lance's nose scrunch up. "Here. That arrow hit you on the bridge of Lotor's ship." His hand lingered a moment longer before it moved, sliding downwards, his palm spreading warmth all the way down the side of his neck, over his collar bones, against his chest and to his stomach. The line of warmth lingered long after his hand had disappeared, searing hot. Hand resting on his stomach, Keith continued, "Here. When Lotor put his hands on you." Then his hand was on the move again, back up to his neck, where the capsule had been. Lance imagined a line of red, burning like fire—like _Keith—_ being left behind in his hand's wake. "Here. When they injected that capsule into you." One of his fingers touched a point just above that. "Here. When I grazed you with that bullet." The hand slid down his shoulder and over his arm, spreading more lines of heat over Lance's shivering body. He cupped Lance's shaking hand. "Here. When I hit you with the gun." More heat tracing to his ribs and then his back, Keith's body crowding towards him, his eyes feverish, slightly inhuman. "Here and here. Where I hit you with the gun again." His hand over Lance's forehead, more lines of fire. "Here. When you hit your head on the door." Then, back to his cheek. "Here. Where I smashed your cheek, over and over." Another line traced down to his stomach, his voice shook with this one. "Here. When I pressed my knee into you. And finally," he began, hand tracing to his neck once again. "Here. Where I broke the capsule. Where I killed you."

At some point Lance's eyes fluttered closed, his head tilting back as Keith set his body alight with his hand. He could picture glowing lines of red all over his body from where Keith had touched. Like rivers of lava running through his skin. 

Usually if someone had been touching Lance like this he would have felt it thrum through him like desire. A sensual touch, something you'd want to continue in...other ways. But this—this was different. A whole other level. There was nothing sensual about it. The way Keith's hand moved over Lance's skin, dipping and curving over every crevasse or bump, was purely thoughtful, like he was retracing a memory and it was written in all Lance's injuries. He was tracing the past on Lance's skin, mapping it out as if trying to make sense of it himself. He could feel the tremor of remorse in that one touch—of sorrow and pain.

Lance couldn't explain it completely.

But he felt like they'd just shared something binding. Felt a ribbon tied between them by the wrists. Kind of like when they formed Voltron, but it wasn't the lions connecting them. Just a touch. Keith's touch. 

But yeah, it also felt really _fucking_ good _._  Like having your friend play with your hair. There was nothing sexual about it, the sensation was just addictive and amazing. Just skin on skin—human.

"I see," Lance said, feeling breathless and overwhelmed. He did see. He could see himself through Keith's eyes—through the weight of his words and the slight tremble of his hand. "Hey, Keith," he said, opening his eyes and lowering his head to look at the boy crouched in front of him. "I want you to feel something else."

With his trembling hand, Lance reached up to move Keith's hand on his neck back down to his other hand, resting it on his wrist; where'd he'd first grabbed Lance, leaving bruises behind. The bruises were gone now, but that wasn't what he wanted Keith to feel. Pressing his hand over Keith's, he forced the Red Paladin's thumb into the centre of his wrist, over the fragile blue veins that ran underneath his skin, where his pulse throbbed. He pressed it in hard, willing Keith to feel what Lance needed him to.

Keith's eyes blew wide, long lashes fanning out, and a gasp pulled its way out of him. Lance imagined this was likely the same wrist Keith had found pulseless when Lance died.

"You feel that?" Lance whispered. Keith nodded, his head bowing over their joint hands. "That means I'm alive. You can't have killed me if I'm sitting here with a pulse."

Keith's head continued to nod slowly along with Lance's words, like he was in a trance.

They remained in that position for a little while longer, Lance bowed over top of Keith while the other boy stared down at his hand on Lance's pulse like it was the most amazing thing in the universe. Lance could imagine his pulse seeping into Keith's skin like ink, knitting their very essence together as the beats of their hearts became synchronised. Lance had never felt so alive. 

It was a very pretty image in Lance's head. 

Once his wrist began to ache they broke apart again. Shrugging his shirt off the rest of the way, Lance continued to get unchanged. Though, at one point Keith insisted on putting Lance's shirt on for him. A fraction put off by the idea, he'd almost refused. But upon seeing the desperate look in Keith's eyes, he'd surrendered. It was clearly something Keith needed to do.

So, Keith dressed Lance, even going so far as changing his pants, socks and shoes. It was methodical; quiet and comforting, just to be looked after. To be fussed over. Even if it _was_ Keith.

"Alright, I'm dressed and ready. Can we go now, _mum_?" Lance teased as Keith finished tying his shoelaces, in _double knots._ Dork. 

His face scrunched up at Lance. "If you ever call me that again I'll kick your ass so hard on the training matt you'll be limping for a month."

" _Daddy_ , then?" Lance. Shut the _fuck_ up. 

Keith walked out of the room. Just—got up and left as fast as Lance could blink.

"Keith?" he called through the door. 

Nothing.

"Keith! Hey, man, c'mon. I was just kidding! Don't leave me here, my legs are like jelly!" Lance screeched.

A moment after despairing that Keith had, in fact, gone and left him there, Keith flew back into the room again. Lance's eyes widened when he saw his cheeks were a deep shade of red as he stalked towards him. Rather ungraciously, he yanked Lance to his feet, pulling one of his arms around his shoulder. " _Never again. Never repeat that."_

Apparently, Keith couldn't take a joke. But that was nothing new.

* * *

Hunk was on his tenth circle around the room when he heard voices entering. He heard Keith's first, naturally irritated and a little clueless, and then—

Then he heard Lance's voice.

_Lance._

Hunk hadn't heard Lance's voice in five days. It was the longest he'd ever gone without hearing it and he was only just now realising how much he needed it in his life. It felt like home. Felt like days long past in the Garrison, days in their dorm, just chatting about nothing, days in Cuba when Hunk sometimes went to visit, days in class when they'd make silly faces at each other after they were separated for talking too much, days as Voltron, just trying to get through one thing at a time. Days that reminded Hunk that he and Lance were still basically kids.

Lance's voice hadn't changed at all, asides from the slight rawness after days of disuse.

But otherwise, it was the same.

The familiarity of it punched Hunk in the gut so hard he stopped pacing for the first time in hours. He wasn't ready for this yet. He wasn't ready for Lance. Wasn't ready for Lance to be alive, breathing and talking so soon after he'd stopped doing all that. His heart racing in his ears, Hunk turned to the entrance the exact moment Keith walked in with Lance hanging off his shoulders. 

The same bitterness that had risen up in him at the thought of Keith being there when Lance died rose up in him now. It should be Hunk holding him up like that, but he'd been too scared sick of seeing Lance awake to take the leap. He had no right, but in that moment, Hunk truly did hate Keith. Was jealous over the way him and Lance had seemingly gotten so very close because of their time spent on Lotor's ship. Lance was _his_ friend. 

Usually that spiteful thought would have spurred Hunk into action—would have sent him straight to Lance. But he remained still, his heart something wild in his chest.

His and Lance's eyes snapped together, Hunk could feel the way the room filled with invisible energy as it happened. Keith, smartly, glanced away.

Yeah, this was _his_ moment with Lance.

He wanted to tell Keith to get out but, one, that was a little too rude, and two, Lance was literally relying Keith to hold him upright, his body still weak after his ordeal. Hunk noticed, with regret, how thin Lance looked under his jacket, the way it seemed to swallow him up whole. Not only that, but his cheeks had hollow shadows inside them and beneath his shirt his collarbones stuck out, painfully obvious. If it wasn't for the fact that Lance's eyes were open and moving, Hunk might have thought he was dead. 

"Hey, buddy," Lance said, voice inviting. 

Hunk had prided himself on being able to keep himself together quite well lately. He'd panicked less than usual, didn't throw up once and only cried that one time next to Blue's barrier with Keith. He'd wanted to go see Lance upon hearing he was awake from an ecstatic Pidge, who had been carrying a glass of water down the hall, but his feet had taken him immediately to the training room instead. He'd felt all clogged up inside, unsure of the feelings filtering through him at the time. Wasn't sure what was keeping him from Lance. He wasn't mad at him, he was positive. It was something else.

He'd been able to keep himself together relatively well. Until now, after hearing that achingly familiar tone in Lance's voice. It sent him crashing to his knees and he heard Keith hiss out an 'oh shit' as he began to violently sob into his hands. A living breathing Lance. Right in front of him.

It would take some getting use to, he'd still been convinced, in a way, after they brought him back to the castle, that Lance was still dead. Went into his room once after washing Lance's clothes to fold them away, and seeing Lance asleep, eyes shut, still—he looked like a corpse. Even the stiffness of the sheets he lay beneath screamed 'dead.' 

"Keith," he heard Lance say. "Can you take me to Hunk? I'd suggest leaving us alone for a while actually. In fact, just don't come back, Hunk will take care of me." Hunk was astounded at Lance's capacity to even function right now.  _Adaptable,_ whispered his mind. Scarily adaptable. 

Hunk had his face in his hands, his tears spilling over them and onto the ground as his sobs droned on. He'd been ready to kill Lance at one point. Had shut his feelings off because he thought it was necessary, because that's what a _proper_ soldier would do. What bullshit.

A moment later, Keith was lowering Lance gently down on the ground in front of Hunk. Shiro had lightly washed Lance off when they arrived back three days ago, so the comforting smell of Lance's soap washed over Hunk like cool water. He felt a hand on his shoulder, weak and _trembling_. Hunk instantly looked up to be met with somber blue eyes. He could see Keith's retreating form behind him, too, but Hunk only had eyes for Lance. His hand was still trembling violently against his shoulder. 

Hunk didn't say anything about it though. He waited for Lance to say something. _Anything._

 _Please stay. Please leave,_ his mind chanted, swirling with conflicting emotions. 

"I'm sorry," Lance said, surprising Hunk. "I never should have said all those terrible things about you being a coward. It's not true."

" _It is._ " 

"It's _not_ ," Lance said firmly, scooting further forwards on his ass, legs crossed and gangly. "You're the strongest person I know. _Even_ stronger than Shiro. You're my best friend and you have a heart made of gold. You didn't deserve a word I said to you back then." 

"Lance, listen to me for a sec. I _am_ a coward. I was a coward for calling you stupid even though I knew it would hurt you. I was a coward for doubting you on Lotor's ship. I was a coward for considering not backing you up. I was a coward for thinking it made me strong to kill you. And I was a coward for not killing you. I was a coward for not coming to you earlier. I'm a coward now for talking to you."

Lance's eyes darted awkwardly away, looking sheepish. "Ahh, that's a lot of awfully conflicting things you're a coward for."

"The point is. I'm a coward. But it was me being a coward that stopped me from killing you. I should have killed you, like you once said you wanted me to. But my hands shook too much, and you also said never to shoot when your hands aren't stable. So I spared you, like a coward. Past you gave me an excuse from another past you, if that makes sense? I don't think it does, but whatever." Lance was still looking confused, eyebrow quirked high on his forehead. "But I'm proud of it. I'm proud to be a coward if it means I'm sparing my friends lives. I never want to see you dead ever again."

Lance rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Kind of put a downer on everything, didn't it?"

"And stop apologising. Just—just come here."     

Using the hand Lance had on his shoulder, Hunk pulled his friend into an embrace, breaking the barrier— _finally—_ between them. Lance fell into it with a sigh on his lips, eyes closing and his nose burying itself into Hunk's shoulder. 

_You're here you're here you're here you're here._

_I'm here I'm here I'm here._

_We're both here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Wow some of that writing might be a mess until I look through it for a third time. So, forgive me. I didn't have my coffee (you know I discovered it makes my writing really good? Who knew?)
> 
> Follow me on:  
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean 
> 
> Probably one more chapter to go. Whaaattttt? Time is weird. I'll take a but of a break between that to brainstorm then get onto it. 
> 
> Again, I read all of your comments again and I screamed like a little girl and each one. You people are the best. xoxoxoox


	25. Day Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voltron has a problem. Shiro has another. Pidge loves her family. Keith is too much at times. A surprise happens.

"So, we have a conundrum," Allura began with at their first official meeting the day after Lance woke up.

They were all seated in the lounge room in various states of relaxation, all touching each other in one way or another. Pidge was squeezed up close to Allura's side, painting the Princess' nails. Coran sat above them both on the lip of the lounge, a hand on both of the girl's shoulders, looking fond and perhaps a little jealous over not having his own nails painted. Shiro sat next to Lance, a hand thrown over his thin shoulders while Hunk crowded in on Lance's opposite side, a large hand holding both of Lance's jerky ones inside it. It was all very pleasant, despite the seriousness of the conversation.

Work. They were back to work.

Lance was hardly even given a break and now they expected him to be back at it again. It made Keith unreasonably angry. Made him want to corral Lance back into his room and lock everyone else out. Wanted to lock Pidge out, Shiro out, Allura out, Coran out, and even _Hunk._ Just wanted to have Lance to himself for a little while longer. Jesus, Lance could still hardly walk and here he was discussing battles and diplomacy. It was unfair. 

Voltron was sounbelievably  _cruel_. 

Though, as Keith narrowed his gaze on Lance as he entered the room, he recognised the determined spark in those deep blue eyes. He was ready for this. Despite everything that he'd been through, despite _dying,_ he was ready to dive straight back into it. But that was just Lance, Keith had come to realise. In a way, he was a lot like Keith, ready to throw himself into the deep end in spite of all the warning signs. Lance was just better prepared for the consequences than he was.   

Keith was faced with his own frustrating conundrum as he entered the room. He'd been eager to wedge himself next to Lance upon arriving, however, with Shiro and Hunk taking up all the available room, it meant there was no space for him. He almost felt the need to growl at them to back off, but that would have been unreasonably rude. They were all happy to have Lance back, Hunk probably most of all. Still, as Keith slowly made is way into the centre of the lounge he found himself unsure of where to sit. This was his family, but at times, he still felt like an outsider, still fumbling with its inner workings and functions. He'd only ever had a father growing up, and even he was a scarce thing, left Keith all alone one day on his tenth birthday. Not even a single word. 

Thankfully, graciously, ever the asshole, Lance sent Keith a smirk and flicked his eyes down towards his feet. Keith rose a brown suspiciously, but Lance was persistent, kicking his legs out as a clear gesture to, _get the fuck over here._

So, feeling awkward as everyone's eyes followed him, Keith settled himself by Lance's legs, which had shifted to hang over top of his shoulder. Thankfully, he wasn't wearing shoes so he didn't get shit all over Keith's freshly washed jacket (courtesy of Hunk). Less thankfully, his head was uncomfortably situated between Lance's thighs. Uncomfortably close to...other places. 

Keith was going to have to learn how to rein himself if he ever hoped to cling to some semblance of sanity. 

"Which conundrum in particular? We usually have at least six of those," Pidge asked Allura, eyes concentrated on her hands.

"Specifically, this," Allura answered, sweeping her hands in that way of hers to bring up a projection in the middle of the room. Pidge squawked as she fumbled after Allura's hands again, continuing her work.

It showed a video of the Green Lion plummeting to the ground, forcing a gulp out of Keith as the memory resurfaced. Pidge looked pale herself. A moment later the screen flashed to something that had both Keith and Lance drawing in breaths.

It was them, in the Galra fighter's cockpit. Lance swinging that sword hard into Keith's head, and he could have sworn he felt his head spike with pain at the sheer memory. He could feel the tension in Lance from his place beneath him, felt one of his hands drop to Keith's shoulder as the video continued to show Lance taking Keith's place in the pilot's seat, his eyes dark and lifeless. Keith couldn't watch this.

"Stop," he demanded, glaring at Allura. "We get it. Now, turn it the fuck off. Just tell us what else was filmed."  

Allura's eyes clashed with his for a moment, narrowed with clear annoyance, but then they flicked up to Lance and softened. She nodded and swished the screen away. At least they had something they mutually agreed on now.

"Right," she began. "Lotor filmed other footage, too. Including when Lance attacked Shiro and Keith. Somehow they also managed to film and broadcast Lance's..." she gulped, like they all did on this topic. "Passing. And Keith's attack on the female Galra."

"And? What's been the outcome? How far did the footage get?" Shiro asked.

Allura's gaze dropped, looking regretful. She shut her eyes for a second before she answered. "Everywhere. It's being transmitted all over the universe, one planet to another. We've received various responses from the Olkari, the Balmerans, the Puigians, the Aurusians and many others. They've revoked their alliance in the coalition we've been building. We haven't received a word from The Blade of Marmora as Kolivan is now missing, presumedly somewhere on Earth. But, thus far, we have no allies. They don't trust Voltron any longer."

The news hit the team devastatingly hard, but none more so than Lance, who'd instantly wobbled out of the room, his hands shaking impossibly harder. Keith had moved to go after him but Hunk was already a step ahead, shooting to his feet and out the door. Malice pooled in Keith's gut, burning hot. He understood Hunk was Lance's closest friend, but...but Keith wanted it to be him going after the Blue Paladin. It was _their_ experience, not Hunk's.

It was almost painful for Keith to turn around and focus again on the conversation, his right hand tapping repeatedly on his knee with frustration.

"What are we going to do?" Pidge asked, constructive as ever.     

Shiro joined in. "Right now, all we can do is try and win back their trust, I suppose." Was that unsureness in his voice?  

"Yeah, but how?" 

"The same way Lotor broke it," Allura said determinedly. "He was smart. He utilised something we hadn't even considered. Propaganda. He showed them exactly what he wanted them to see and now we've lost all our allies. We need to show them that he was lying. Broadcast our strength. Show them Voltron's might."

"What, like a tv commercial?" Shiro asked, head cocking to the side.  

"I don't follow," Allura said, looking confused. 

"Like a short clip advertising a product to make people want to buy it. You want to advertise Voltron. So people want it. Turn it into a commodity?" Pidge said, leaning up in her seat, her eyes turning curious. Keith could practically see the numbers running through her head as she added up all the variables.

Allura thought about this for a second. "I suppose, yes. That's exactly what I mean. We need to sell it to the universe. But rescuing one planet at a time will take far too long."

Keith huffed out a bitter laugh, feeling a fraction destructive today _._  Lance and Hunk still hadn't returned. "Really? You wanna start making merchandise while you're at it? Toys? Clothes? Pencil sharpeners? Comic books? Phone cases? Lion themed slippers?"    

"Will you stop using terms I don't understand just to make me feel stupid!" Allura suddenly burst out, turning her eyes on Keith like frozen daggers. Coran tried squeezing her shoulder to calm her down. "Would you stop being so negative and _contribute_? You're not the only one who was affected by the events of the last few Quintents." Allura's voice sounded terribly sincere—and _hurt_. The others were all staring at him with disapproving expressions.

"Actually," Pidge interjected. "Despite him being an asshole about it, Keith may actually have a point. Selling Voltron will take more than a few broadcasts. And we can't just sell the lions. We need to sell the Paladins, too. Right now the universe thinks Lance is...gone. If we sell it right, show him off as being alive and kicking ass, we could slowly rebuild our allies again. Show them all Lotor couldn't defeat us, even after all that. And it's Lance, he's the king of selling himself."

"It won't be that easy at the moment, number five," Coran interjected. "Lance is still...working through some things. I wouldn't try and push a camera in his face just yet."

"Which brings up another issue," Shiro interjected, looking like was about to regret whatever he was going say. "Have any of you noticed his hands?" Keith immediately bristled, his anger simmering just under the surface of his skin when he saw the slow nods from everyone else in the room. _Fuck off. If you even dare suggest he's replaced by Allura I'll leave Voltron myself._ They weren't going to kick Lance off the team for something he couldn't help. 

"His hands are fine," Keith growled, giving each of them a heavy look, daring them to argue with him.

"I didn't say they weren't," Shiro said from above him, and Keith felt his hand settle on his shoulder, felt like it was pressing him down into the ground. "I'm just wondering what it means for Lance. If he can't shoot, or pilot, then—"

Keith shrugged Shiro's hand off, surprising the Black Paladin. "Then  _nothing!_ We focus on training him to use a different weapon. We ask Blue to guide him when he pilots. She's done it before, so has Red. Lance's place is here." 

Shiro's face hardened. "I never said it wasn't. I only want us to consider our options." He looked up to Allura. "Can the Cryo Pods fix them, maybe?" 

Regretfully, Allura shook her head, her short, silver hair swishing over her cheeks. "No. The lion's capacity to heal far exceeds that of the Pods. If she couldn't fix his hands initially, then there is nothing we can do but hope they restore themselves with time." 

"And if they don't?" Keith muttered. 

"Like you said, we train Lance to use other weapons, ask Blue to help him. I'll _never_ replace him as Blue's Paladin." Her eyes met Keith's firmly, unwavering, daring him to dispute anything she said. 

_Fine._

Yet Keith was still festering with anger once the meeting was over, foremost about the fact Lance and Hunk didn't show their faces for the rest of it. He'd been practically vibrating with restlessness when Allura finally dismissed them, sending Keith one more look of warning. He danced around Shiro when he tried getting Keith's attention, likely wanting to have a meaningful chat about life, or something terrible like that. He bolted towards Lance's room, knowing it was the most likely place he'd gone. Lance didn't like being vulnerable in places where people might run into him, preferred to keep it confined to his own room.

However, as Keith passed the door to Hunk's room he heard voices. One of them was definitely Lance's, which had Keith pulling up short, almost sending him to the floor from the speed he was walking at. Something inside him growled upon hearing Lance's voice inside that room. He should be in his own room, not Hunk's.

_No, they're best friends. Stop being a dick, you insufferable asshole._

Oddly, the voice that told him this sounded concerningly like Lance.

Go figure.     

He was tempted to press his ear up to the door so he could overhear their conversation, however, that would be crossing an incredibly fragile line. But still, his chest constricted at the hushed murmur of their voices; Hunk reassuring, and Lance, wobbling. Keith had asked Lance to confide in him about these things. He was overjoyed that he and Hunk were on the same track again, but—but, but, but, Keith still felt his entire body protest at being shut off like this, felt it want to pounce inside that room and snatch Lance away. 

Keith, with a shrug, marched his way angrily to his own room. 

_You're such a prick. Just leave them alone._

Again, why did his inner voice sound like Lance? 

He groaned into his pillow when he collapsed onto his bed upon arriving in his room. Life with a family was so _messy._

* * *

Shiro had felt like something was off ever since arriving back to the castle. Could feel it brush down his spine every so often like fingers.  _Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong,_ something inside him seemed to chant. It had him feeling twitchy and sometimes a little crabby. Specifically, at Keith, he noticed after the Red Paladin brushed off both his hand and some words of encouragement during their meeting. He'd being trying hard to settle back into his role as the leader, but he was finding it difficult. It was like trying to pull on a pair of shoes he'd grown out of. Or, perhaps the shoes had been switched. Who knew?   

All Shiro knew was that it had something to do with his lion. This strange emptiness inside him, corroding all his organs like copper. 

It was why he was standing outside his lion now, her fallen form a depressing sight after so long being separated. He'd been standing here for ten minutes now, rooted to the spot—just staring up at her. He'd put on his Paladin armour in the hopes it would help him settle into his role again, but his heart still felt dislodged. For the first time since joining Voltron, Shiro was unsure of his place.

He'd been on Earth, he'd tasted peace for those few beautiful days. He ate pizza, smiled at the people he walked past on the street when he went into town, he read books, he caught the eyes of a few pretty girls. He'd pretended, with terrifying ease, that Earth was where he belonged. Just slotted himself in. And it felt so good.

Of course, he'd been desperate to get back to Voltron, to his team. Of course, he'd was sick with worry. Of course, he'd wanted to continue fighting until the job was done. Of course, he'd tried reaching out to Black. But Jesus, Earth was his home. There would always be a massive part of him still rooted there.

He just didn't think it would be so hard to move on—to fall back into his role as _the Black Paladin._ Somehow, in the middle of everything, Voltron had stopped feeling like home. 

He stepped forward, finally, making his way towards Black, feeling a strange sense of dread tingle up his throat—a hand closing around his neck.

 _No._ He was their leader, he didn't get to feel like this. He knew his place. 

There was a crackle of energy, and then a purple energy barrier shot up between him and Black, cruelly cutting off Shiro's path towards her. He flinched to a stop, dropping his helmet and felt his heart plummet to the floor with it. A strange feeling rose inside him, and a second later a broken sob burst free from him, almost like it was startled out. He could have sworn he heard his entire world come crashing down around him as he stared helplessly up at the barrier. It taunted him, the thrum of energy like laughter in his ears. 

Falling to his knees, Shiro whispered, "Please, don't. I need you, so I can be there for them."

Nothing. 

Black was rejecting him. 

* * *

Pidge replayed the footage of her brother escaping from Beta Traz for likely the hundredth time that day and found that even with her glasses her vision was becoming blurry. A problem for another day. Right now, all that mattered was imprinting the image of his face into her mind.

He looked different, which was to be expected of someone held prisoner of the Galra for over a year, his usually bouncy hair limp and longer than she remembered. He was thin, too.

It reminded her of Lance at the moment, still slowly trying to convince his body into eating again. He said it still made him feel sick to eat but he tried anyway. Pidge was still worried though. She'd found him after lunch today bent over the toilet, emptying is already hardly full stomach inside. She knew it was a side affect of the massive changes his body had undertook, knew it would pass over time. But she'd still felt her stomach roll as she went over to him, dropped to her knees, and placed a hand on his back, smoothing it up and down like he always did for her.

In a way, she thought Matt and Lance would have made good friends. Matt, studious and focussed. Lance, bold and energetic. They would have balanced each other out. She hoped one day they could meet.

 _No_ , she was determined for it to happen. She would unite all her family together one day, no matter what. 

A whoosh of the doors and Hunk entered the dining room, looking dejected, but at least he didn't have that dead-eyed look anymore. Wordlessly, he sat down beside Pidge and joined in to watch the repeated footage of her brother, his chin in his palm. 

"How's Lance?" she asked, flipping off the screen and turning to Hunk. 

He blew out a breath. "Fine enough. He's kinda inconsolable from the whole 'losing our allies' thing, though. There was only so much I could say to calm him down. He thinks its all his fault." 

"Of course. Any of us would feel the same if it were us on the screen. Do you think he'll be okay?"

Hunk nodded, eyes falling shut. "He'll be fine. Give it some time, I think, and he'll come back swinging. Most likely right at Lotor's ugly face."

"Lotor's alive?" Pidge asked, bewildered. They'd seen the front end of his ship crash down a while away from them when they were on Earth, Blue's fury apparently a very destructive thing, not to be messed with. Thankfully the whole Galra-ship-crashing-to-Earth thing had distracted the world from their own presence which had given them the time and room they needed.  

"I don't think taking down Lotor will be that easy," Hunk warned. 

"That's a really depressing thought, ya know? You want to go down that path so early after we made it out?" Pidge already felt tired just considering the possibility of facing that asshole. Hated the feeling of needing to gear herself up again.

"We'll look out for each other this time, won't we?" Hunk asked her, a worried look on his face.

"Shiro's here now, right? We're complete again, what could possibly go wrong?" 

* * *

"If I asked to kiss you right now what would you say?"

_Seriously._

Lance didn't know what to do with Keith at times. When they were 'rivals' he'd wished they could be closer, but now that they were, he kind of just wished they could go back to being rivals. It was simpler that way. Especially when Keith didn't know how to approach topics like  _this._

Legs crossed as he leaned back against the wall of his bed, knitting (badly) with the items Allura had found for him in the morning, Lance answered, "I'd say, 'you technically already asked so it's a big fat no because you're such a dumbass.'"

"I haven't asked!"

"Asking what I would do if you asked something else is still the same thing, Keith," Lance rolled his eyes.

"It's not." Keith was on the opposite end of the bed, picking at the handle of his knife, the glow of the purple symbol in the dim room reflecting off his eyes and bouncing off the walls.

"It so is." Lance felt his stomach growl with hunger, like it had done practically all day, but ignored it. Eating was currently a problematic task he would rather avoid for now. It was like everything he consumed was automatically rejected by his body. He'd only try a few spoonfuls of food goo just to throw it up a few minutes later. A pointless task.

_"You just have to give your body time," Allura said to him in the med bay, a hand on his shoulder. "Just try to at least keep up your fluids for the time being and eat small amounts of food, even if you just throw up. Don't work yourself too hard, either."_

_Lance laughed bitterly. "Kinda hard when we're Paladins of Voltron."_

_"You mean **you're**  Paladins of Voltron. I don't need to Pilot Blue now that Shiro's back. I won't take her from you," Allura assured, eyes fierce. _

_"You've seen my hands, right?" Lance held them up to her as a reminder, Allura watching them with a grave expression. "Not going to be a very good Paladin with these things. But I won't quit either." He paused, allowing his hands to fall into his lap. "Allura, if you ever see that I'm letting down the team—I'll try my hardest not to, I promise—I want you to take my place as Blue's Paladin. She seems open to both of us, so it won't be a problem."_

_"Lance, please don't ask me to replace you," she begged._

_"I'm not, just want you to keep an eye out. Besides," he added, looking up at her with a small smile. "You look good in pink."_

_Allura's eyes began to brim with tears. She still looked beautiful._

_"Oh, Lance. You're too good for this world, you nincompoop," Allura breathed, pulling Lance into a hug._

_"Oh ew, who taught you that word? That was nasty."_

_"Pidge."_

_"Of course."_

_Offhandedly he thought how good it felt to hug her, all soft and girly, smelling like flowers. Girls were still a thing for Lance, sue him for enjoying them._

"Lance." He looked up to Keith, who'd crossed the space between them, eyes dark and concerned. "Hey," he said when their eyes met. "You kinda zoned out for a second." 

"Sorry," he responded, laying down his knitting tools, not feeling very inspired after an hour of struggling to control his hands enough to make a simple scarf for Pidge. Allura thought it would be a good exercise for him, but it was honestly just making him feel worse. He'd aways been great at knitting, his mother constantly said so to him growing up, and the fact that he couldn't do it anymore made him feel even more disconnected from his family than ever. "Just thinking about things."

Keith's brows lowered with regret. "I shouldn't have asked you that. It was insensitive of me."

This amused Lance and his lip quirked up a fraction. "So you admit you did technically ask _that_."

"Piss off," Keith laughed, shoving Lance in the shoulder gently. "Out of curiosity," he continued, voice dropping a few octaves. "What  _would_ you say?" 

Lance wished he hadn't have continued, really, really, sincerely wished Keith would have instead just move on. He glanced away to the other side of the room, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Keith apparently picked up on the shift in mood, falling back onto his ass from his hands and knees. His own gaze fell to his hands.

"You'd say no," he said straightforwardly, sadly, all his humour from before zapped out of him. It made Lance feel sick inside. 

"It's not because I don't want to," Lance defended, flinching as a wave of pain went up his arms. They'd begun to ache from the constant shaking of his hands as the muscles continued to convulse cruelly beneath his skin. It was extremely tiring, he'd found. "I like making out with people as much as the next. I'm just...careful with where I throw my emotions these days. I got way too emotionally invested in things like this back in the Garrison, and it always left me feeling like shit after another girl rejected me. I don't want to risk Voltron by putting _those_ things at the forefront of my priorities." 

"I'm not some girl from the Garrison," Keith tried arguing, ever stubborn.

"No, you're _Keith_ from the Garrison. Keith, who was always better than me. Keith, who always brushed me off whenever I asked him for piloting advice. Keith, who made me want to quit more than a dozen times even after he left. Keith, who still haunted me every time Iverson opened his mouth. Keith, who I was always shadowing."

Keith's face slowly crumpled over the course of Lance's speech, and yeah, it made him feel bad, but it was something he needed Keith to understand first. It was important.

"That's why you hated me so much when we rescued Shiro together? At the start of Voltron."

Lance shook his head. "I never hated you. I was just hurt after so many years of being stepped on by your name. I'm over it now, believe me. And I'm over how you behaved when Shiro went missing. You kinda made up for it all."

"I killed you."

"Will you _shut up_ about that?"

"Okay, sorry."

"What I'm trying to say is you've caused me pain in the past, and I don't want to ruin this new, good thing we have going now by diving into something like this. Besides, you're in love with Shiro," Lance added, bitterly, hating the taste of the words.

When Lance glanced back to Keith his eyes took his breath away. They looked absolutely devastated, shattering like glass as he stared down at Lance's hands. "You're rejecting me."

"I'm _postponing_ you. Until Voltron is over."

"That could take our entire lifetime!" Keith's voice sounded ripped out of his throat, raw and guttural. "You're asking me to potentially wait out my entire life just so you don't have to feel shit every once in a while?" Oh, he was mad now.

An angry Keith was a problematic Keith. He made weird decisions.

"Fuck it, you asked for it," Keith hissed. 

For example, swooping in on Lance like a hawk and taking his face inside his steady hands. Jealously shot through Lance as he felt their sureness against his face. Then panic, when Keith's face followed soon after. Just in time, Lance pulled his head away, causing Keith's lips to meet nothing but air, but his hands were still on Lance's cheeks, still holding him close.

_Not this again. Christ._

" _Keith._ Think." 

"No, you think, Lance. Do you have any idea what you just asked of me? Of yourself? You want to potentially throw all this down the drain because you might get _hurt_? That's called being an asshole. If you want this too, then what's the problem?" His hands tightened on Lance's cheeks, then one of them slid down to rest over the top of his aching neck, right where the capsule had been. Keith leaned in again, this time to lower his face towards Lance's neck, nuzzling his nose into the space between his hand and Lance's jaw. Lance waited for his lips to touch there, but he only continued to hold himself still, breath hot against Lance's skin. "Tell me you don't want this."  

"Fuck off," Lance whined, his head falling back as his trembling hands rose to Keith's shoulders, ready to push him away.

"If you don't want it," Keith continued, muffled, the hand on Lance's cheek running over to grasp the back of his head, fingers weaving into his hair. "Just push me away."

Oh, Lance fucking was about to, could feel his arms gearing up to give one big push. But then he felt the tip of Keith's nose against his throat as he slid his face up higher, over his jaw, leaving a hot trail behind, and to his ear. _There_ his lips did touch as they moved to speak. "C'mon, Lance." 

His stomach dropped and his eyes flew open—he hadn't realised they were closed—when a familiar pair of purple and yellow eyes flashed before him;  _that_ voice whispering into the very same ear. He gasped, banishing the image before he could properly picture it. Keith wasn't Lotor. He wasn't cruel, he was just...a dumbass.

That dumbass was slowly crowding his body closer Lance's, his knee sitting between Lance's legs, an awful tease. It'd been so long since Lance had done anything like this, and he was overwhelmed by the feeling of this other human paying so much attention to him again. A small corner of his mind whispered, _Just go with it. Enjoy it for what it is and worry about the consequences later, like Keith would._

_That's a bad move._

_Voltron was a bad move, but here you are. You might as well enjoy **some** parts of it. _

Why did that voice sound suspiciously like Keith's?  

Keith was practically pressing Lance back into the wall now and Lance could feel his lips split into a grin behind his ear as he continued to shift his face teasingly all over his skin. 

"I'll stop if you tell me." 

Lance knew Keith was telling the truth. Lance trusted him completely to fuck off if he asked. He also knew he should stop. But this feeling Keith was filling him up with, this fire that burned both inside his veins and all over his skin, it was so utterly _addicting_. 

_Enjoy it._

Lance's trembling hand rose, sliding around the back of Keith's neck, feeling the dampness of his skin beneath his dark shirt and weaving his fingers unsteadily through his hair, to pull Keith in closer. 

Then, he _burned_. 

From his skin and straight into his very blood, where it coursed through him like fire. 

 _God,_ was Lance's final thought.  _I'm finished._

* * *

It wasn't so easy to kill Prince Lotor. Voltron should have known better than to fall so easily into their own comfort after his defeat.

Trapped on Earth until his father sent out a rescue team to fetch them, Lotor surveyed the ugly looking shack the Paladins had spent so much time in with disdainful eyes, tapping his foot impatiently as he heard a shout and then something collapse on the ground behind him.

He turned, peeling his eyes away from the shack to look scornfully down at the traitorous scum before him. Zethrid had done a marvellous job roughing him up a little, Lotor noted with satisfaction as he saw the various wounds all over the scum's body. By his sides, Narti and Ezor were silent.

"Acxa had a run in with him on her way to take out the Blue Paladin. We found him nearby, hidden in a cave."

"Excellent. Despite her failure she still managed to give us one last gift in return. A useful one, at that," he purred, taking a few steps towards the scum on the ground, giving him a merciless kick across the face just so he knew who he was dealing with. Also, because it gave him some satisfaction after that humiliating defeat. He winched when his bandaged wrist throbbed with pain, blood still seeping out of the severed limb. Using his foot, he angled the scum's face up towards him from the ground.

"I'm looking forward to getting to know you, Kolivan. Rumour has it you're running an entire rebellion _and_ you're a close ally of Voltron itself. I can't wait to hear everything you have to tell us."    

Lotor once again had his sights on Voltron—on _dear Blue._ He would not underestimate them this time.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> WELL. That's done. I hope the end satisfies you and leaves you wanting more. 
> 
> Forgive me for any bad grammar or mistakes! Sometimes I read over past chapters and find some and scream a little with frustration lolol 
> 
> ALSO: NOTE, I came up with the idea of Black rejecting Shiro before season three came out. Dreamworks, I want my idea back. 
> 
> I appreciate you all taking the time to read this mess. I'll have part two up and running for you soon enough. IT'S NOT OVER.
> 
> All your comments are amazing and drive me to write better every day. I'll respond to each one on this final chapter!! Thank you all!!!!
> 
> *hugs and kisses*
> 
> Follow me on:  
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean


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